,      JYFU! 

*F  AqnTLTTC'  !  ) 

1  1  m-JJi  m  1   . 


T PAYNE* 
ERSKINE 


o 


JOYFUL   HEATHERBY 


Noforls  bg 

lErsfcine 


JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 
THE    MOUNTAIN    GIRL 

WHEN    THE    GATES    LIFT 
UP   THEIR   HEADS 


He  kissed  her,  and  they  took  their  way  in  silence.     FRONTISPIECE. 
SeepayeSW. 


JOYFUL 
HEATHERBY 


BY 

PAYNE    ERSKINE 

AUTHOR  OF  "THE  MOUNTAIN  GIRL,"  ETC. 


WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS  BY 
M.  LEONE  BRACKER 


BOSTON 

LITTLE,  BROWN,  AND  COMPANY 
1913 


Copyright,  1913, 
BY  LITTLE,  BROWN,  AND  COMPANY. 


All  rights  reserved 

Published,  January,  1913 
Reprinted,  January,  1913  (twice) 


PMMM 

8.  J.  PARKHILL  A  Co.,  BOSTON,  U.S.A. 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  FACE 

I.    SKIED i 

II.    A  SLIGHT  MISUNDERSTANDING 28 

III.  HEATHERBY'S  BOY    .       ,       ..      ,       .       .       .41 

IV.  "la  Nous  SOMMES  HEUREUX "      .  ...  ...      .       .      56 

V.    MIXED  EMOTIONS 82 

VI.    JOYFUL'S  LADYE  FAIRE 98 

VII.    IN  THE  BARN  STUDIO 113 

VIII.    JACK  STODDARD'S  WOOING 125 

IX.    JOYFUL'S  SECRET 143 

X.    A  MYSTERIOUS  ASSAULT 159 

XI.    CONFLICTING  SENTIMENTS 179 

XII.    THE  END  OF  AN  IDYLL 191 

XHI.  MARK  RETURNS  TO  THE  WORLD      .        .        .        .208 

XIV.  A  TOUCH  OF  WORLDLY  WISDOM      .        .        .        .226 

XV.  PREMONITIONS  FULFILLED         ...       .        .    237 

XVI.    ENSNARED         .        . 252 

XVII.  AFTER  THE  MANNER  OF  THE  WORLD       .        .        .    264 

XVIH.    A  REBUFF .    280 

XIX.    RENEWED  ASPIRATIONS     , 295 

XX.    JOYFUL  FINDS  A  PROTECTOR 300 

XXL  A  MODERN  KNIGHT  .        .       .       .       .       .        .    311 

XXII.  MRS.  BING'S  BLUNDERS    .       .       •       ..       .       -325 

v 


vi  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  FAGE 

XXIII.  MRS.  RENOLDS  DISCOVERS  A  MYSTERY        .        .  336 

XXIV.  A  CHANCE  MEETING 346 

XXV.  SUNRISE  ON  A  HILLTOP      ")  .^       ....  359 

XXVI.    JOYFUL'S  NEW  HOME 372 

XXVII.    OVERTAXED 388 

XXVIII.  AN  AMBITIOUS  WOMAN'S  HUSBAND       .        .        .  401 

XXIX.  MARIE  VAILE'S  RELEASE       .        ...        .        .  411 

XXX.  MRS.  RENOLDS  SOLVES  THE  MYSTERY          .'       .422 

XXXI.    SURRENDER .       .  436 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 


He    kissed   her,   and    they  took    their   way  in 

silence  .         .         .         .         .         .         Frontispiece 

PAGE 

He  was  rewarded  by  another  glimpse  of  her  face  .       17 

Jack  was  close  beside  her.     She  could  feel  his 

breath  upon  her  cheek 135 

Joyful   was  moved  for   the  first  time  to  active 

responsiveness        ......     269 


vii 


JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 


CHAPTER  I 

SKIED 

"  What  skills  it  if  a  bag  of  stones  or  gold 

About  thy  neck  do  drown  thee  ?    Raise  thy  head ; 
Take  stars  for  money,  —  stars  not  to  be  told 
By  any  art,  yet  to  be  purchased. 
None  is  so  wasteful  as  the  scraping  dame ; 
She  loseth  three  for  one,  —  her  soul,  rest,  fame. 
.....•• 

Pitch  thy  behavior  low,  thy  projects  high ; 
So  shall  thou  humble  and  magnanimous  be  : 
Sink  not  in  spirit ;  who  aimeth  at  the  sky 
Shoots  higher  much  than  he  that  means  a  tree. 

A  grain  of  glory  mixed  with  humbleness 

Cures  both  a  fever  and  lethargicness." 

—  GEORGE  HERBERT. 

RARE  and  sweet  are  genuine  spring  days  in  our  austere 
New  England  climate,  days  when  the  air  breathes  of  ex- 
pectation, and  glory  to  come  is  half  revealed  in  the  touches 
of  brighter  color  gleaming  through  the  blue  grays  of  the 
budding  woodlands.  There  are  mortals  who  starve  for 
nature  and  long  with  irresistible  desire  for  the  woods  and 
fields — for  bird  songs,  and  the  sound  of  lapping  water 
among  the  stones.  Mark  Thorn  was  one  of  these. 
Spring  had  come  tardily  and  dealt  her  favors  sparingly 
this  year,  and  when  he  went  out  a  bitter  wind  cut  through 


2  JOYFUL   HEATHERBY 

him,  as  bitter  and  keen  as  the  disappointment  which  had 
tortured  him  ever  since  the  last  exhibit  when  his  pictures 
had  been  skied  and  no  one  had  paused  before  them  or  given 
them  a  second  look,  —  as  bitter  and  keen  as  the  pain  which 
cut  to  his  very  heart  when  Louise  Parsons  passed  by  him 
with  the  words,  "Why  don't  you  get  to  work  and  really  do 
something,  Mark?" 

He  had  turned  on  her  in  ill-concealed  rage  covered  with 
sarcasm  which  she  chose  to  consider  only  a  flagrant  piece 
of  ill  temper.  "If  I  had  painted  those  pictures  which  are 
tucked  out  of  sight  in  that  dark  corner,  in  Paris  instead 
of  here,  they  would  have  been  hung  where  those  daubs 
are  that  you  are  pretending  to  admire  now,  and  you  would 
be  saying,  'Mark,  how  much  you  have  accomplished  !" 

"Then  why  did  n't  you  paint  them  in  Paris  ?  " 

Mark  threw  out  his  hands  in  disgust  and  turned  away, 
then  turned  back.  "Can  we  never  be  loyal?"  he  asked. 
"Are  we  always  to  hail  from  abroad  or  go  without  notice  ? 
Are  we  never  to  have  any  art  of  our  own?  Louise,  you 
ought  to  know,  if  you  do  not,  that  my  pictures  are  better 
than  these." 

"I  know  they  are  not  bad,  Mark,  but  then  they  don't 
seem  to  appeal  to  others,  and  there  must  be  some  reason. 
We  can't  set  aside  the  judgment  of  critics  and  the  public 
as  worth  nothing.  I  would  rather  praise  your  pictures 
than  any  one's  else ;  you  know  that." 

"Yes.  I  know  if  all  the  world  were  praising  mine, 
you  would  go  down  on  your  knees  to  them ;  that  is,  if  the 
world  were  praising  them  enough." 

Louise  lifted  her  shoulders  and  her  beautiful  chin,  and 
slipping  her  arm  through  her  stepmother's,  led  her  away. 


"Good-bye,  Mark.  When  you  are  in  better  humor  come 
and  see  me." 

Mark  turned  and  sauntered  off. 

"That's  always  the  way,"  continued  Louise  to  her 
companion.  "He  resents  the  least  suggestion.  Mark 
never  can  understand." 

"Why  will  you  and  Mark  always  be  disputing?  It 
certainly  is  n't  a  pleasant  thing  for  either  of  you,  and 
when  all  is  said,  nothing  seems  to  be  accomplished." 

"What  could  be  accomplished,  pray,  when  he  takes  it  so  ?" 

"I  mean  you  never  tell  him  just  what  it  is  you  object  to. 
Now,  what 's  the  matter  with  those  pictures  of  his  ?  Are  n't 
they  as  good  as  the  ones  you  were  raving  over  of  that 
Pole's?" 

"He  is  a  Russian,  Kate  dear." 

"Russian's,  then.  Aren't  they?  I  like  his  drawing 
far  better." 

"I  see.  You  wish  me  to  be  more  concrete,  and  I  would, 
only  we  have  n't  time  if  we  go  to  the  Seraha  lecture." 

"I  can't  see  what  you  find  in  that  fat  Hindoo  to  go  into 
raptures  over.  Really,  Louise,  do  you  know,  yourself?" 

"I  wish  you  could  see,  Mamma  Kate,  for  your  own  sake. 
My  life  is  so  full  of  the  joy  of  seeking.  But  I  can't  make 
you  see.  I  must  be  content  with  my  own  happiness  in  this 
new  light." 

"But  you  are  so  vague,  dear.  You  don't  once  say  what 
this  new  light  is.  That 's  just  the  way  you  talk  to  Mark 
about  his  pictures." 

"You  are  always  wanting  to  be  concrete,  when  nothing 
in  this  world  is,  don't  you  know?  The  soul  must  reach 
out  for  itself  and  find  its  own  path.  Mark  ought  to  do  the 


4  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

same.  Just  now  the  rage  is  for  everything  foreign.  Our 
land  is  so  new  and  crude.  If  people  want  foreign  things, 
why  does  n't  he  paint  abroad  ?" 

Louise  Parsons'  placid  way  of  accepting  her  own  ideas,  or 
those  she  chose  to  adopt  for  the  time  being,  was  infectious. 
She  dragged  her  unresisting  little  stepmother  away  to  the 
Seraha  lecture  without  more  ado,  not  even  turning  her 
serene  face  for  another  glance  at  the  offending  pictures 
which  had  been  skied  to  make  room  for  those  of  more  suc- 
cessful artists.  "You  see,  Mamma  Kate,"  she  said,  draw- 
ing that  little  lady  toward  her  with  a  caressing  movement, 
"I  perfectly  adore  Mark.  We  know  he  has  talent,  but  I 
want  to  spur  him  to  do  something  which  will  make  the  world 
see  it,  too.  We  can  never  be  happy  if  he  doesn't  succeed. 
You  know  how  it  would  be  —  he  would  never  be  satisfied 
with  himself,  and  I  —  well  —  I  should  always  feel  it  also. 
He  must  succeed." 

"Yes,  dear,  I  suppose  he  must,"  Mrs.  Parsons  sighed. 
Being  childless  herself,  her  love  for  Mark  was  akin  to  a 
mother's  devotion.  Her  heart  overflowed  toward  her 
sister's  son  with  tender  craving  and  solicitude.  She  loved 
her  stepdaughter  also,  and  tried  to  persuade  herself  that  the 
beautiful  child  was  all  hi  all  to  her,  but  in  a  woman's  heart 
there  is  always  room  for  a  son,  with  love  and  to  spare.  As 
time  passed  she  had  learned  to  yield,  as  an  elder  sister  might, 
to  the  girl's  caressing  domination,  even  as  one  who  abdicates 
gladly  an  arduous  position. 

Mark  strode  from  the  gallery,  smothering  his  anger,  not 
turning  to  see  if  they  took  a  second  look  at  his  unfortunate 
pictures.  Had  he  not  painted  them  for  Louise?  Every 
brush  mark  had  been  placed  with  thought  of  her,  —  his 


SKIED  5 

hours  of  toil  had  counted  for  him  only  as  they  would  bring 
return  in  her  eyes,  —  and  what  had  he  gained  ?  A  shrug, 
a  cool  glance,  and  a  cutting  remark ;  and,  worse  than  all, 
the  maddening  thought  that  she,  too,  was  only  one  of  the 
crowd  whom  he  was  fighting,  and  would  think  as  they 
thought,  not  as  he  thought. 

He  went  back  to  his  dismantled  studio  and  gazed  indig- 
nantly about.  All  his  long,  eager  winter's  work,  his  very 
soul  —  as  he  thought  then  —  laid  bare  to  the  public,  and 
left  to  their  careless,  uncomprehending  glances,  or  more 
cruel  utter  neglect. 

"Fools,"  he  muttered,  moving  about  his  cold,  disordered 
room.  "Fools  !  Let  them  pay  their  price  for  crushing  out 
every  atom  of  American  ambition.  What  can  we  do? 
What  can  I  do  ?"  Biting  his  lips  with  anger  and  chagrin, 
he  jerked  an  old  trunk,  which  bore  the  marks  of  many 
campaigns,  from  a  corner  where  its  disreputableness  had 
been  hidden  by  an  Oriental  fabric  and  began  tossing  into 
it  a  few  of  his  belongings.  "I'll  get  out  of  this.  I'll  go 
where  the  air,  at  least,  is  wholesome,"  he  said. 

"Come  and  see  me  when  you're  in  better  humor."  The 
words  rang  in  his  ears.  "I'll  be  in  better  humor  next  fall, 
perhaps,"  he  said  grimly,  "if  not  —  I'll  wait  until  I  am, 
and  she  may  wait  too,  or  else  —  ,"  he  stopped  and  laughed 
unpleasantly,  and  turning  a  canvas  from  the  wall,  stood 
looking  down  at  it,  his  hands  thrust  deep  in  his  pockets. 
Then  the  artist  began  to  dominate  the  man,  and  the  frown 
on  his  face  turned  into  a  serious  look  of  contemplation. 
He  knelt  before  it,  scrutinizing  every  line,  and  touched  it 
here  and  there  to  see  if  it  was  dry,  whistling  softly.  If 
Louise  had  seen  him,  would  she  still  have  been  cold  ?  Was 


6  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

it  her  face,  or  was  it  his  idealized  conception  of  her?  He 
was  glad  he  had  not  sent  it  with  the  others  to  be  slighted 
and  forgotten.  What  would  she  have  said  if  he  had  ?  He 
turned  it  to  the  wall  at  last,  and  went  on  with  his  packing. 

An  hour  later  he  was  seated  in  a  local  train,  his  color  box 
and  valise  strapped  together  at  his  feet,  speeding  out  of  the 
city.  He  had  canceled  several  engagements  and  written 
his  aunt  he  would  not  dine  with  her  that  evening.  Whither 
he  went  he  did  not  care,  —  anywhere  to  be  away  from 
people.  The  day  had  been  cold,  lowering,  and  raw.  The 
air  had  the  fishy  smell  of  the  sea,  yet  through  it  all,  and 
through  his  misery,  he  heard  the  call  of  the  spring.  Nature 
would  be  more  kind,  more  human  than  men  and  women. 
She  would  take  him  to  her  bosom  and  steep  his  soul  in  the 
wine  of  life.  Perhaps,  sometime,  he  would  be  able  to  work 
again  seriously,  but  now  he  must  rest,  and  dream,  and 
meditate. 

When  a  man,  starting  out  in  the  enthusiasm  of  youth, 
has  toiled  and  hoped  on  into  the  earnestness  of  manhood, 
patiently,  perseveringly  seeking  to  maintain  his  ideals 
in  spite  of  all  that  the  world  offers  in  exchange  therefor, 
and  finds  at  last  he  has  brought  up  against  a  blank  wall  of 
indifference,  what  is  he  to  do  but  take  the  antidote  for  his 
suffering  that  nature  benignly  gives  —  to  lie  awhile  on  her 
breast,  bathe  in  her  streams,  listen  to  her  bird  songs  and 
the  voice  of  her  woods,  revivify  himself  with  her  pure  breezes, 
and  let  his  soul  become  once  more  enlightened  by  God's 
sunlight  streaming  over  all  ?  Mark  Thorn,  vaguely  feeling 
this  instinctive  longing  for  the  natural  cure  for  his  hurt, 
sought  it  out,  even  as  a  vine  trails  its  length  toward  its 
natural  support,  or  a  flower  seeks  the  sun. 


SKIED  7 

As  the  train  rumbled  on,  Mark  leaned  back  in  his  seat, 
with  his  hat  pulled  over  his  eyes,  and  thought  of  the  years 
he  had  spent  in  fitting  himself  to  paint  the  pictures  which 
had  been  lost  sight  of  by  the  throng.  Why  had  he  done  it  ? 
What  had  urged  him  on,  and  held  him  to  his  early  ideals  ? 
He  felt  the  satisfaction  of  a  man  who  is  conscious,  in  spite  of 
failure,  that  he  has  been  true  to  a  lofty  purpose,  and  not 
moved  merely  by  a  sordid  ambition.  He  had  chosen  to  be 
a  creator,  and  a  dreamer  of  dreams;  what  then,  was  the 
world  at  fault  that  it  refused  to  worship  at  his  feet  ?  Was 
that  the  guerdon  for  which  he  worked,  after  all  his  high 
sentiments  ?  It  was  well,  then,  that  he  had  failed  to  reach 
it.  A  fillip  for  the  world  !  If  he  could  only  make  a  living, 
that  was  all  he  asked  of  it ;  and  he  would  paint  as  he  pleased, 
cling  to  his  ideals,  create  for  the  love  of  his  art,  and  be  happy. 
Ah  —  but  there  was  Louise  !  Must  he  win  the  world  to  win 
her  love? 

He  moved  restlessly  in  his  seat,  and  scanned  the  land- 
scape absently  as  he  whirled  by.  Now  and  then  he  caught 
a  glimpse  of  the  sea,  and  as  the  train  sped  northward,  the 
hills  grew  higher,  and  the  spring  seemed  more  advanced 
in  the  sheltered  hollows.  Two  countrymen  in  the  seat 
behind  him  talked  of  their  own  and  their  neighbor's  affairs, 
and  he  caught  scraps  of  their  conversation. 

" Willoughby  Junction " 

"Yes,  pretty  good,  I  should  think.  Heatherby,  he 's  made 
extry  good  hauls  this  spring,  'nd  Boston  market 's  always 
good." 

"Heatherby 's  always  lucky.  He 's  born  to  it  —  presume 
to  say  't  he  fished  when  he  was  a  baby." 

"The'  say  he  still  keeps  th'  boat;  well  —  he  'd  ought  to." 


8  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

"Woodbury  Center 's  pickin'  up  a  little,  too.  The'  tell 
me  the  's  a  new  store  there." 

"Yes,  but  'twon't  grow  much.     Nothin'  to  make  it  - 
no  factories,  not  even  on  th'  line  of  the  road." 

"They  might  make  something  out  o'  their  marshlands, 
if  they  'd  only  put  a  little  money  into  draining  of  'em." 

The  conductor  passed,  and  Mark  asked  him  for  the  nearest 
station  to  Woodbury  Center.  A  place  with  no  railroad  to 
it,  and  no  factories  near  it,  and  marshlands  and  woodlands 
and  sea  within  reach,  that  was  the  place  to  which  he  wished 
to  go.  "Anywhere,"  he  said  to  himself,  "where  civilization 
had  not  blundered  into  improvements." 

"Woodbury  Center?  It's  off  the  line  of  the  road,  but  I 
guess  you  can  get  there  if  you  try.  It 's  not  far  from 
Willoughby  Junction." 

So  Mark  had  his  luggage  put  off  at  the  Junction,  and  was 
left  standing  on  the  platform,  the  only  mortal  in  sight. 
The  clouds  had  lifted,  and  the  sun  shone  warmly.  He  sat 
on  his  box  and  whistled,  and  whittled  a  pine  stick,  and 
waited.  Presently  a  small  boy,  with  answering  whistle, 
came  along  trundling  a  wheelbarrow,  and  informed  him  that 
when  people  wanted  to  go  to  Woodbury  Center,  his  "pa" 
took  them  over  in  his  spring  wagon,  but  that  "pa"  was  away 
now  taking  a  lady  and  her  trunk  to  the  next  town.  So  Mark 
set  out  across  country  on  foot,  in  the  direction  indicated  by 
the  boy,  carrying  his  hand  bag  and  easel,  and  leaving  his 
heavier  luggage  in  the  care  of  the  little  humpbacked  agent 
whom  he  found  in  the  station. 

While  Mark  Thorn  was  pursuing  his  way  toward  Wood- 
bury  Center,  guided  now  and  then  by  a  passing  farmer  to 


SKIED  9 

a  shorter  cut  through  woodland  or  meadow,  Mary  Elizabeth 
Drew  stood  in  the  doorway  of  her  ancient,  rambling  home, 
speeding  two  departing  guests  with  gentle  words  of  courtesy. 
Her  mother  spoke  also,  from  the  inner  room  where  she  re- 
clined in  an  invalid's  chair. 

"Don't  hurry  away,  Mrs.  Somers;  stay  and  have  supper 
with  us." 

"Yes,  so  do,"  said  Mary  Elizabeth. 

"Oh,  my!  We  can't  stay  another  minute  —  Ma  — 
you  know  we're  going  to  have  company  to  tea.  Good- 
bye," said  Jane  Somers,  the  tall,  loose-jointed  daughter, 
with  a  hurried  flutter,  gathering  up  the  back  of  her  skirt, 
which  dragged  heavily  from  her  well  drawn  in  waist. 
"Good-bye." 

"Well,  good-bye,"  said  her  small,  wiry,  bustling  mother, 
and  the  two  walked  quickly  away  down  the  garden  path, 
bordered  by  Elizabeth's  spring  posies. 

Mrs.  Drew  took  a  long  breath,  and  closed  her  eyes,  folding 
her  hands  in  her  lap  with  Quaker  quietude. 

"They  tired  thee,  mother." 

"No  —  Oh  no.     Are  they  gone  ? " 

"They  are  just  untying  the  horse." 

"Thee  must  go  out  in  the  air,  daughter.  Thy  voice 
sounds  weary.  Thee  needs  the  air." 

"Yes,  mother,  after  a  minute.  Shall  Katy  bring  thee  a 
cup  of  tea?" 

"No  — I  will  sleep  a  little." 

Mary  Elizabeth  stood  for  a  moment  in  the  doorway, 
watching  the  carriage  top  sway  and  dip,  as  it  slowly  sank 
from  sight  in  the  descent  to  the  village;  then  she  moved 
down  the  flower-bordered  path  like  a  queen,  while  bright 


io  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

tulips  nodded  and  touched  the  hem  of  her  gown  as  she 
passed.  She  stooped  and  lifted  a  white  one  the  wind  had 
broken,  shook  it  a  little  to  remove  the  sand  from  its  pure 
cup,  and  propped  it  up  with  a  forked  twig,  and  then  stood 
looking  down  at  it  with  a  troubled  expression  on  her  face. 
On  either  side  of  the  path  tall  white  lilacs  shook  their  snowy 
tassels  above  her  head. 

"We  are  hypocrites,  the  best  of  us,"  she  said,  at  last. 
"We  smile  and  say  things  we  don't  mean.  Her  voice 
sounded  like  a  wasp  buzzing.  Why  should  she  talk  to  me 
of  Joyful  Heatherby  and  Nathanael?"  A  wave  of  color 
swept  over  her  white  throat,  deepening  as  it  rose  to  the  halo 
of  red  gold  about  her  forehead.  She  pulled  a  handful  of 
the  brittle  lilac  leaves  and  crushed  them  in  her  fingers, 
scattering  them  over  the  path  as  she  walked  on.  Then  she 
stood  leaning  on  the  little  green  gate,  looking  up  and  down 
the  quiet  country  road.  Not  far  away  a  red  cow  stood 
sleepily,  chewing  her  cud,  and  three  tall  poplars,  lank  and 
still,  cast  slender  shadows  across  the  way.  In  the  distance 
a  small  figure,  laden  with  a  basket  and  an  armful  of  pink 
crab-apple  blossoms,  emerged  from  the  strip  of  woodland, 
and  climbing  a  low  stone  wall,  came  toward  her.  The  child's 
slight  form  leaned  and  swayed  with  the  weight  of  the  basket, 
and  her  straight  gown  clung  to  her  lithe  limbs  as  she  hurried 
on.  As  Elizabeth  watched  her,  the  look  of  anxiety  in  her 
eyes  deepened.  "What  is  she  doing  out  so  late,  and  her 
grandmother  ill?"  she  thought.  "I  can't  understand  why 
Mrs.  Somers  thought  it  necessary  to  tell  me,  or  what  she 
thought  I  had  to  do  with  it.  Nathanael  may  choose  where 
he  pleases  —  I  love  the  child  myself,  why  should  n't  he  ?  " 
Then  she  swung  the  gate  open  and  walked  down  the  path. 


SKIED  ii 

"Joyful  Heatherby,  where  have  you  been?  Let  me  take 
that  great  basket." 

"No  —  no.  It 's  not  heavy.  Stoop  down  so  I  may  kiss 
you,  my  arms  are  so  full." 

"What  have  your  arms  being  full  to  do  with  kissing  me, 
you  dear?" 

"I  would  hug  you  with  them,  of  course.  You  haven't 
been  over  for  so  long  —  grandmother  said  Mrs.  Drew  must 
be  having  a  spell,  that  you  did  n't  come." 

"No,  but  I  would  have  come  surely,  if  I  had  known  your 
grandmother  was  ill." 

"She  hasn't  been  sick  —  what  made  you  think  so?" 

Again  the  shade  passed  over  Elizabeth's  face.  Her  manner 
with  the  child  was  that  of  an  older  sister.  "  Mrs.  Somers  told 
me.  I  wondered  at  your  leaving  her  alone  in  this  way." 

Joyful  laughed,  and  then  suddenly  grew  grave.  "I  think 
Mrs.  Somers  is  a  very  funny  woman.  When  anything 
happens  you  would  rather  she  should  not  know,  she  always 
seems  to  come  round  —  and  —  then  she  seems  to  know, 
even  if  you  put  her  off.  I  told  her  —  a  week  ago  it  was  — 
grandmother  had  a  headache.  Grandfather  was  out  with 
his  boat,  and  you  know  how  grandmother  is  when  he 's 
gone  too  long  —  well,  Mrs.  Somers  had  to  come  around 
asking  that  very  day."  The  child  was  like  a  sad  spring  fay 
who  had  found  a  trouble  in  its  little  life,  as  she  stood  there 
with  her  arms  full  of  blossoms,  gazing  up  into  Elizabeth's 
face  with  large,  sorrowful  eyes.  "Would  you  be  afraid  that 
way  every  time  he  goes?  He  comes  back  all  right.  He 
always  does,  but  she  sits  in  her  room  and  makes  it  dark, 
and  moans  and  moans,  and  rocks  back  and  forth,  and  never 
eats  anything  until  he  comes  to  her." 


12  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

"No,  I  would  n't.  But  don't  think  about  it,  dear.  You 
can't  help  it." 

"Sometimes  I  wish  he  would  sell  the  old  boat,  but  then, 
poor  grandfather,  he  would  die  if  he  could  n't  go  on  the  sea 
once  in  a  while;  and  anyway,  we  need  the  money." 

Elizabeth  looked  at  the  girl  with  eyes  grown  luminously 
soft  and  loving.  "Yes,  dear,  I  know,"  she  said  gently. 

The  caressing  look  brought  its  quick  response.  "You  're 
my  'Ladye  Faire,'  and  I  love  you,  I  love  you,"  Joyful  cried. 
Then  she  threw  her  flowers  on  the  ground  and  knelt  beside 
them,  bending  over  the  basket.  "Look  in  here,  look.  I 
have  fern,  and  Jacks,  and  bluebells,  and  cress  —  grand- 
mother loves  it  —  and  these  yellow  flowers  —  they  hang 
their  heads  as  if  they  were  afraid  to  look  up  —  and  this  vine 
—  they  all  grow  in  deep,  deep  shade  under  a  great  rock 
over  by  Blue  Marsh  Creek.  They  are  for  my  wild  bed  in 
the  corner  by  the  porch,  where  the  sun  never  shines.  I  can 
dig  there  all  I  wish  —  grandmother  won't  care,  and  I  can 
have  it  look  like  spring  all  the  time." 

"I'm  afraid  they  won't  do  well  there,  child.  Everything 
needs  a  little  sun,  you  know." 

"Oh,  well,  I  can  try,"  said  Joyful,  brightly.  Then, 
straightening  herself,  she  looked  again  into  Elizabeth's 
eyes.  "Why  do  you  always  call  me  child  ?  I  was  seventeen 
last  week,  and  grandmother  says  I  am  a  woman  now,  and 
must  'put  away  childish  things.'" 

"I  was  thinking  something  of  that  kind  as  you  came  up," 
said  Elizabeth,  looking  away  where  the  sky  blazed  with  gold. 

The  girl's  face  flushed.  "I  'm  almost  as  tall  as  you  are. 
My  chin  comes  up  to  your  shoulder." 

"Yes,  Joy,  but  do  you  think  you  ought  to  go  wandering 


SKIED  13 

away  off  like  this,  alone  ?  To  Blue  Marsh  Creek  ?  Why, 
that's  four  miles." 

"I  know,  but  —  grandmother  sent  me  out.  She  said  I 
looked  peaked.  Of  course  she  did  n't  know  I  was  going  so 
far  —  neither  did  I." 

"I  only  meant  for  your  own  sake,  dear.  Let  me  take  this 
heavy  basket,  and  you  come  in  and  rest.  Then,  after  I  've 
looked  after  mother,  I  '11  go  part  way  with  you.  It  will  be 
too  late  for  you  to  go  alone." 

"No  —  no,  Ladye  Faire.  I  'm  not  tired.  I  met  up  with 
Nathanael  a  long  piece  back  —  he  was  in  his  father's  field 
that  joins  the  Thorntons ;  he  came  across  to  give  me  a  mes- 
sage for  grandfather,  and  carried  it  all  the  way  to  your  piece 
of  woodland.  I  can't.  It 's  so  late  now,  grandmother  will 
worry." 

They  had  reached  the  gate,  and  Elizabeth,  turning 
quickly,  opened  it.  "Good  night,  then,"  she  said.  "Tell 
Mrs.  Heatherby  I  '11  be  over  in  a  day  or  two.  Good  night." 

"Good  night,  Ladye  Faire,"  called  the  little  maid,  hurry- 
ing away.  The  great  basket  dangled  against  her,  and  her 
gown,  torn  in  one  or  two  places,  swung  to  and  fro,  as  she 
walked.  Her  sunbonnet  hung  by  the  strings  from  her  neck, 
and  her  plentiful  brown  hair  was  knotted  high  on  the  crown, 
leaving  only  a  stray  lock  or  two  to  be  blown  back  by  the 
breeze.  Her  dress  touched  the  hepaticas  and  violets  grow- 
ing in  the  crevices  of  the  stone  wall,  and  set  them  nodding 
and  gossiping  together  as  she  passed. 

It  was  a  mile  from  Mrs.  Drew's  house  to  the  little  inlet 
of  the  ocean  where  Joyful  lived.  All  the  distance  was 
covered  by  primeval  forest  growth,  undevastated  by  the 
hand  of  man  since  first  it  came  into  the  possession  of  the 


i4  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

Drew  family,  in  the  early  settlement  of  the  country,  except 
where  a  wagon  way  had  been  cut  through  to  what  was 
called  Heatherby's  Point,  which  was  in  reality  no  point  at 
all,  only  a  sheltered  cove,  where  the  tides  rolled  gently  up 
the  sand  toward  the  green  woods,  and  back  again,  day  after 
day,  and  where  the  waves  never  were  high,  even  in  the 
roughest  weather. 

This  patch  of  forest,  with  its  dense  shadows  and  many 
logs,  its  one  purling  stream,  which  she  could  leap  across, 
its  bright  sunny  spots,  and  low  hills  sloping  toward  the  brook, 
was  as  dear  to  her  as  the  little  yellow  cottage  at  the  end, 
with  its  few  acres  of  cleared  land,  which  was  her  home.  She 
knew  where  the  first  trailing  arbutus  was  to  be  found  in  the 
spring,  where  the  chestnuts  lay  thickest  in  the  fall,  where 
the  flying  squirrels  had  their  nests,  and  the  owls  their  holes 
—  where  they  sat  and  made  their  doleful  cries  with  the 
whippoorwills  in  the  soft  summer  evenings.  She  would 
have  risen  at  midnight  and  walked  among  those  trees  with 
as  little  fear  as  she  would  have  had  in  crossing  her  grand- 
mother's kitchen. 

The  sun  had  dropped  below  the  edge  of  the  horizon  when 
she  turned  from  the  main  road  into  the  lane  through  the 
woods,  lightly  treading  the  soft  grass.  Suddenly  a  pleasant 
voice  arrested  her  hurried  steps. 

"Will  you  kindly  tell  me  how  far  I  am  from  Woodbury 
Center?" 

Glancing  quickly  in  the  direction  from  which  the  voice 
came,  her  eyes  met  those  of  a  stranger,  who  stood  regarding 
her  intently,  as  he  had  been  for  some  moments,  unknown 
to  her. 

"It's  about  two  miles,  I  think,"  she  replied,  and  would 


SKIED  15 

have  moved  on,  when  he  spoke  again,  a  little  wearily,  glancing 
at  some  traps  by  his  side  —  a  gun,  a  contrivance  combining 
camp  stool,  umbrella,  and  easel  in  one  slightly  cumbrous 
affair,  and  a  small  valise  and  color  box  strapped  together. 

"I  beg  pardon  for  detaining  you,  but  I  fear  I  've  lost  my 
bearings.  Which  way  must  I  go  —  the  shortest  way  — 
to  reach  the  village?"  He  gathered  up  his  belongings  as 
he  spoke,  and  crossed  the  wagon  track  toward  her. 

She  put  her  basket  down,  and  pointing  with  her  shapely 
little  sunburned  hand,  said  simply,  "Turn  to  the  right 
when  you  reach  the  main  road;"  then,  noting  his  evident 
weariness,  added,  "You'll  have  quite  a  hill  to  climb,  but 
only  for  a  short  distance  —  then  it 's  downhill  all  the  way." 

"Thank  you,  thank  you."  He  made  no  move  to  pass  on, 
but  placed  his  traps  beside  her  basket.  "I  have  a  load  to 
carry  also,  only  mine  is  not  beautiful  as  yours."  He  threw 
his  hat,  which  he  had  not  replaced  since  he  first  saw  her, 
on  the  ground,  and  seating  himself  at  the  foot  of  a  great 
chestnut,  began  mopping  his  brow  with  his  handkerchief. 
"  I  think  if  I  've  a  hiU  to  climb  I  '11  rest  here  a  little  first,"  he 
said. 

Joyful,  with  a  reserved  half  smile,  took  up  her  basket 
and  walked  on,  wondering  somewhat  concerning  him,  but 
simply  unconscious  of  the  intent  gaze  which  followed  her. 

He  leaned  back  against  the  rough  tree,  whistling  softly 
to  himself,  as  he  watched,  with  half-closed  eyes,  the  little 
figure  growing  smaller  in  the  distance.  Suddenly  his  face 
lighted,  and  springing  to  his  feet,  as  if  weariness  were  un- 
known to  him,  he  bounded  after  her  with  all  the  energy  of 
youth  and  enthusiasm. 

"Would  it  be  asking  too  much — ?"    She  started,  and 


16  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

looked  up,  as  if  he  had  already  passed  from  her  thoughts. 
"  I  beg  pardon  again,  but  one  sees  so  few  whom  one  can  ask," 
and  he  looked  ruefully  up  and  down  the  quiet  lane,  as  if 
he  had  expected  it  to  be  thronged  with  the  moving  crowd 
to  which  he  was  accustomed.  "I  thought  possibly  you 
might  know  of  some  one  who  could  take  me  in  for  a  few  days. 
I  don't  care  to  go  even  to  Woodbury,  if  I  can  stop  outside. 
I  wish  to  make  a  few  sketches  about  the  country." 

He  bent,  and  mechanically  took  hold  of  the  handle  of  her 
basket.  She  did  not  yield  it  to  him,  but  he  bore  the  greater 
part  of  its  weight  as  he  suited  his  step  to  hers. 

"Indeed,  you're  welcome  to  ask  me,  but  I  don't  know 
of  any  one;  there  are  no  houses  nearer  than  the  village  after 
you  pass  the  one  on  the  hill,  —  that 's  where  Mrs.  Drew 
lives.  She 's  an  invalid,  and  I  never  knew  them  to  take  any 
one.  Mrs.  Somers  in  the  village  takes  boarders  from  the 
city  every  summer,  but  —  "  she  looked  up,  and  again  their 
eyes  met.  She  was  thinking  perhaps  she  ought  to  offer 
him  the  hospitality  of  her  grandfather's  house,  but  what 
would  her  grandmother  say  if  she  brought  a  guest  in,  un- 
announced, after  the  supper  things  were  all  cleared  away  ? 
She  wavered,  and  glanced  up  again,  and  the  flush  on  her 
cheeks  took  a  deeper  hue.  "I  don't  know  what  —  perhaps 
grandmother  might  — 

'Ah,  if  she  would  — !"  but  with  quick  intuition  he 
guessed  at  her  embarrassment,  and  hastened  to  relieve  it. 

"No,  no,  I  wouldn't  intrude  for  a  moment.  I  only 
thought  you  might  possibly  direct  me  to  some  one  who  's 
in  the  habit  of  taking  in  poor  stragglers.  I  've  carried  those 
traps  as  far  as  I  care  to,  for  one  day,  but  I  '11  take  them  up 
and  plod  on  to  Woodbury." 


He  was  rewarded  by  another  glimpse  of  her  face.     Page  17. 


SKIED  17 

"Oh,"  she  cried,  glad  to  compromise  with  herself,  "you 
can  leave  them  at  grandfather's.  It's  only  a  little  way 
farther.  I  '11  wait  here  till  you  fetch  them." 

"I'll  be  delighted."  He  hastened  back  for  them,  but 
when  he  returned,  found  to  his  chagrin,  that  her  face  was 
totally  eclipsed.  A  little  womanly  feeling  of  reserve  had 
caused  her  to  draw  the  great  sunbonnet  over  her  head. 
He  was  vexed  as  he  looked  down  from  his  greater  height 
on  the  slight,  swaying  figure  beside  him.  She  moved  on 
with  long,  easy  steps,  keeping  pace  with  him  so  naturally 
that  he  scarcely  altered  his  gait  for  her.  Then,  noticing 
the  evident  weight  of  the  basket,  and  the  slenderness  of 
the  hand  that  clung  to  it,  he  cleverly  shifted  his  easel, 
placing  it  under  the  arm  that  carried  his  valise,  and  again 
relieved  her  of  over  half  the  burden.  He  was  rewarded  by 
another  glimpse  of  her  face,  and  a  smile,  that  his  man's 
heart  answered  with  a  quicker  beat. 

"You  have  your  hands  full  without  this,"  she  said,  mak- 
ing a  movement  of  resistance  to  which  he  paid  no  heed,  but 
retained  his  grasp,  as  a  man  will,  and  strode  on,  thinking 
of  what  use  a  study  of  her  head  might  be. 

"We  can't  find  such  models  in  town  —  might  as  well 
study  flowers  from  a  milliner's  window.  She  carries  herself 
like  a  princess.  I  must  say  something  —  she  won't  make 
advances.  Wonder  how  old  she  is  ?  I  'd  give  a  dollar  to 
pull  off  that  ugly  bonnet." 

But  no.  The  full  crown  had  slipped  over  her  high  knot 
of  hair,  and  the  stiff  pasteboard  front,  drooping  forward, 
hid  her  face,  neck,  and  even  her  shoulders.  So  they  walked 
on  in  silence,  while  he  strove  to  analyze  the  impression  her 
beauty  had  made  on  him.  "It  might  be  her  eyes,  or  her 


i8  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

color,  but  they  are  not  all.  No,  it 's  her  completeness.  She 
is  unique  and  perfect  in  this  torn  gown,  with  her  arms  full 
of  crab-apple  blossoms.  I  '11  paint  her  like  this,  and  call 
the  picture  '  Sylvia,'  or  something  —  but  I  have  n't  a  doubt 
her  name  is  Faith,  or  Patience,  or  Prudence.  Well,  they  're 
not  bad  —  but—  " 

"There's  grandfather's  now.     You  see  it  wasn't  far." 

"Indeed,  no."  Roused  from  his  reverie,  Mark  noticed 
a  story-and-a-half  house,  set  with  its  side  toward  the  road, 
surrounded  by  a  tangle  of  shrubbery.  A  tall  locust,  tardy 
in  its  foliage,  and  a  giant  silver-leaf  poplar,  with  great 
twisted  branches,  made  the  house  seem  even  smaller  than 
it  was.  He  walked  more  slowly,  dismayed  to  find  their 
destination  so  near,  and  no  steps  taken  to  insure  a  further 
acquaintance.  Unused  either  to  embarrassment  or  fatigue, 
Mark  was  now  feeling  a  measure  of  both.  Taken  out  of 
his  own  environment,  and  placed  in  hers,  he  felt  himself 
in  a  sense  an  intruder. 

"I  ought  to  tell  you  my  name,"  he  began  hurriedly.  "It 
is  Thorn  —  Mark  Thorn.  It 's  very  good  of  you  to  ask  me 
to  bring  my  things  here.  They  're  not  easily  carried  a  long 
distance." 

"My  name  is  Joyful,"  she  said,  with  simple  directness, 
"Joyful  Antoinette  Heatherby.  Grandmother  will  be 
glad  to  take  care  of  these  for  you." 

He  gave  her  a  searching  look  as  she  spoke  her  name,  as 
though  he  half  suspected  her  of  reading  his  thoughts,  but 
the  sheltering  sunbonnet  screened  her  well:  only,  as  he 
turned  to  open  the  gate,  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  demure 
mouth,  and  delicately  rounded  chin,  and  a  cheek  flushed 
with  exercise.  A  plump  old  lady,  in  lilac-colored  gown 


SKIED  10 

and  round  linen  collar,  stood  in  the  doorway,  eying  them 
sharply  as  they  walked  up  the  path  together. 

"This  is  Mr.  Thorn,  grandmother.  I  asked  him  to  bring 
his  things  here,  instead  of  carrying  them  all  the  way  to 
Woodbury  to-night." 

Joyful  went  up  the  steps  a  little  wearily,  untying  her 
bonnet  as  she  spoke.  She  pulled  it  carelessly  off,  and  the 
knot  of  brown  hair  was  loosened,  and  fell  in  heavy  waves, 
swinging  far  below  her  waist.  She  gave  her  head  a  toss, 
as  if  its  freedom  were  a  relief,  and  passed  quickly  in,  leaving 
Mark  to  make  his  own  explanation  of  their  chance  meeting. 
As  he  talked  with  Mrs.  Heatherby  without,  satisfying  her 
pardonable  curiosity,  he  caught  glimpses  of  the  girl  within, 
as  she  coiled  her  hair,  standing  before  a  little  mirror  he 
could  not  see.  She  disappeared  into  a  low  summer  kitchen, 
and  returned,  bearing  in  her  hands  a  large  blue  pitcher 
dripping  with  water.  He  watched  the  deft  movements  of 
her  wrists  as  she  wiped  it  and  placed  it  on  an  old-fashioned 
table  standing  with  its  leaves  down,  against  the  wall,  and 
covered  with  a  gray  linen  cloth.  She  thrust  the  branches 
of  pink  bloom  deep  into  the  pitcher,  and  then  walked  back- 
ward, with  her  head  on  one  side,  regarding  them.  "She 
is  unconsciously  artistic,"  he  said  to  himself.  Again  she 
disappeared  into  the  kitchen,  from  whence  came  presently 
the  light,  clinking  sound  of  dishes. 

Mark  was  seized  with  a  wild  desire  to  remain,  but  began 
slowly  to  unstrap  his  color  box  from  his  valise.  "I  hope 
these  things  will  not  be  in  your  way — "  he  said,  "they 
certainly  were  in  mine."  Taking  up  his  hat  he  straightened 
his  somewhat  angular  figure  to  its  full  height,  and  looked 
away  over  the  bay,  quivering  in  the  glow  of  evening  light, 


20  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

and  then  at  the  woods  growing  somber  in  the  gathering 
dusk.  "This  is  all  very  beautiful,"  he  said. 

He  was  hoping  Joyful  would  return,  that  he  might  bid 
her  good  night,  while  Mrs.  Heatherby  was  revolving  in  her 
mind  the  propriety  of  inviting  him  to  stop  until  morning. 
Cautious  and  thrifty  she  was,  yet  hospitable  withal,  and 
something  in  his  manner  had  already  won  her.  "I  suppose 
he  's  used  to  having  things  just  so,"  she  thought.  "City 
bred  folks  mostly  are,  'nd  I  don't  know 's  I  better,  he  being 
a  perfect  stranger,  so,  but  then  't  would  n't  be  anything 
more  'n  doing  's  I  'd  be  done  by." 

He  turned  with  a  sudden  movement.  "Good  evening, 
and  many  thanks  to  you,"  he  said. 

"I  was  just  thinking  if  we  only  had  things  anyway  's 
you  're  most  likely  accustomed  to,  I  'd  ask  you  to  stop  over, 
long 's  you  're  looking  a  little  fagged,  'nd  it 's  a  good  piece  on 
to  Woodbury,  'nd  more  'n  half  the  way  uphill;  but  we 
live  very  plainly,  'nd  have  things  plain,  'nd  you  'd  likely 
not  be  comfortable,  long  's  you  're  used  to  having  things  just 
so." 

"I'm  used  to  having  things  any  way  I  can  get  them,  and 
thankful  enough  to  have  things  at  all,"  he  said,  with  a  laugh. 
"But  I  should  be  sorry  to  put  you  to  trouble,  if  — "  he  was 
going  to  ask  if  he  might  pay  for  his  lodging,  but  knowing 
the  pride  of  many  a  New  England  housekeeper  would  rise 
affronted  at  such  a  reception  of  proffered  hospitality,  he 
added,  "if  you  will  allow  me  to  take  things  just  as  you  have 
them,  I  will  accept  your  kindness  gladly  —  but  —  I  may 
be  a  beggarly  tramp,  you  know." 

She  laughed  a  wholesome,  hearty  laugh.  "There  's  a 
long  step  between  a  gentleman  'nd  a  tramp,  'nd  I  've  told 


SKIED  21 

them  apart  before  now,  so  'f  you're  not  afraid  of  being 
taken  for  one,  we  '11  risk  it.  Now  you  walk  right  in,  'nd 
take  a  seat.  Heatherby,  he 's  milkin',  but  it 's  time  he  was 
through.  He  '11  be  in  in  a  minute,  'nd  take  those  things 
of  yours." 

They  entered  a  large,  low-ceiled  room,  and  she  moved 
forward  an  old-fashioned  rocker,  with  patchwork-covered 
cushion.  Mark  leaned  his  head  against  its  broad,  flaring 
back  with  a  delicious  sense  of  rest,  glad  that  he  was  in  his 
own  land,  and  not  in  some  places  where  his  nomadic  life 
had  taken  him ;  and  this  satisfaction  increased  when  Joyful 
entered,  bringing  a  plate  of  little  scalloped  cakes  and  a  glass 
of  milk. 

"I  thought  you  might  like  this  before  you  go,"  she  said. 

"He's  not  going.  I  asked  him  to  stay  overnight,"  said 
her  grandmother,  bustling  about  and  lighting  candles,  with  a 
step  light  and  quick  for  one  so  heavy.  "  You  put  up  the  leaf, 
Joy,  'nd  I  '11  make  tea.  I  wonder  what 's  keepin'  father  ?" 

"No,  no.  You  mustn't  make  tea,  Mrs.  Heatherby, 
indeed  you  must  not.  This  is  all  I  wish,"  he  said,  taking  the 
plate  from  Joyful's  hands.  "This  milk  is  a  treat  to  me. 
You  were  very  kind  to  think  of  bringing  it,"  he  added, 
turning  to  Joyful. 

"Oh,  no.  We  always  have  cakes  and  milk,  and  walking 
makes  one  hungry."  She  raised  the  leaf  of  the  table,  and 
shook  out  a  clean,  white  cloth  to  lay  on  it. 

"I  'd  about  given  you  up,  Joy,"  said  the  old  lady,  moving 
briskly  about,  now  in  and  now  out  of  the  summer  kitchen. 
"When  I  saw  the  sun  goin'  down  I  says  to  father  't  I  guessed 
we  'd  better  have  supper,  for  more  'n  likely  you  were  stop- 
ping over  to  Widow  Drew's,  long  's  you  did  n't  come. 


22  JOYFUL   HEATHERBY 

"Oh,  my  plants  !"  The  child  darted  out  like  a  bird  and 
returned  with  her  hands  full  of  green  stuff.  "See,  grand- 
mother, the  stream  bed  was  full  of  cress.  And  these  ferns 
and  things  !  I  Ve  been  over  to  Blue  Marsh  Creek  and  got 
all  these  to  fill  the  bare  place  by  the  porch." 

"Why,  child  alive  !"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Heatherby,  standing 
still  in  astonishment,  with  a  plate  of  bread  in  one  hand,  and 
a  generous  brown  teapot  in  the  other.  "You  don't  mean  to 
tell  me  't  you  Ve  been  all  the  way  to  Blue  Marsh  'nd  back 
this  blessed  afternoon,  luggin'  that  great  basket.  Go  right 
'nd  sit  down." 

Joyful  laughed  merrily.  "I'm  going  to,  grandmother, 
I  'm  so  hungry,"  and  she  disappeared  in  the  kitchen. 

"There's  no  telling  what  that  child '11  do  next."  Her 
grandmother  poured  out  a  cup  of  tea.  She  had  arranged 
a  tempting  little  lunch,  in  spite  of  Thorn's  remonstrance. 
"Now,  you  draw  right  up  'nd  help  yourself.  'Tain't 
much,  but  if  you  Ve  been  trampin'  through  the  woods  'nd 
standing  round  drawing  pictures,  a  cup  o'  tea  '11  be  better  'n 
nothing." 

Mark  Thorn  was  feeling  the  reaction  from  a  day  of  activity 
to  which  he  had  been  long  unused,  and  the  fragrance  of  the 
tea  was  more  grateful  to  him  than  the  odors  of  roses  and 
violets.  He  was  touched  by  her  simple  kindness.  "I 
don't  know  how  to  thank  you,  Mrs.  Heatherby,"  he  said, 
drawing  up  his  chair;  "your  bread  and  butter  are  fit  for 
a  king,  and  no  one  but  my  mother  ever  made  me  such  a  cup 
of  tea  as  this." 

"Well,  that's  sayin'  a  good  deal  for  the  tea.  I  know 
what  boys  mostly  think  of  things  their  mothers  make," 
she  replied,  beaming  with  pleasure.  Then  she  left  him  to 


SKIED  23 

the  enjoyment  of  his  meal,  and  joined  Joyful  in  the  kitchen. 
He  could  not  help  hearing  the  most  of  their  conversation. 

"Why,  I  Ve  been  farther  than  that  a  great  many  times, 
grandmother,  and  besides,  I  met  up  with  Nathanael,  and 
he  carried  it  over  half  way  for  me,  and,  grandmother,  he  says 
Jack 's  written  at  last,  and  is  coming  home.  He  may  be 
here  any  day." 

"Well,  you  need  n't  be  so  tickled  over  that.  Jack 's  very 
little  account  accordin'  to  my  way  of  thinkin'.  Any  boy  't 
would  run  away  from  his  study  'nd  good  chances  't  his 
brother  worked  hard  to  give  him,  'nd  keep  his  folks  in  hot 
water  for  months  'nd  never  send  any  word,  nor  ask  forgive- 
ness, nor  show  any  contrition  of  spirit,  nor — " 

"But,  grandmother,  —  he  went  —  I  know  why,  and  I  '11 
tell  you.  He  did  n't  want  to  be  sent  to  college  atNathanael's 
expense,  and  his  father  was  set  on  his  going,  and  he  always 
has  put  Jack  first,  and  Nathanael  likes  study,  and  Jack 
does  n't,  and  they  had  words  about  it,  and  Mr.  Stoddard 
got  so  angry,  and  told  Jack  he  was  ungrateful  and  lazy,  and 
so  Jack  said  why  did  n't  he  send  Nathanael,  and  his  father 
said  he  knew  well  enough  they  could  n't  send  both,  and  then 
Jack  spoke  up  and  said  he  would  n't  stand  inNathanael's  way 
any  longer,  so  he  went  off,  and  I  think  it  was  noble  in  him." 

"Hump  !  Guess  if  he  'd  cared  to  go  himself  he  would  n't 
'a'  been  so  dreadful  noble.  How  'd  you  come  to  know  so 
much  'nd  all  about  it  ?  " 

"Nathanael  told  me  a  little  to-day,  and  Jack  told  me  part 
before  he  left." 

"Humph!  Now  eat  your  supper,  child.  Did  you  see 
Jack  before  he  went,  then  ?  "  These  questions  were  put  in 
rather  a  sharp  tone,  and  Joyful's  low  replies  were  lost. 


24  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

"Ah !  So  there  is  a  Jack,"  thought  Mark.  "And  who 
might  Nathanael  be  ?  And  a  little  idyllic  shepherd  and 
shepherdess  affair  going  on,  and  the  course  of  true  love  not 
running  smoothly,  as  usual."  There  was  silence  for  a  while, 
and  the  only  sound  was  the  rattling  of  milk  pans.  Then 
a  heavy  step  and  a  hearty  voice  broke  the  stillness. 

"Why,  bless  me,  Joy!  Back,  are  you?  We  thought 
you  were  stoppin'  over  to  Widow  Drew's." 

"No,  grand-daddy,  I  was  afraid  you  'd  worry." 

"Well,  if  you  had  n't  come  'long  pretty  soon,  ye  'd  'a'  seen 
me  a  humpin'  after  ye,  that 's  certain."  j 

"She 's  been  over  to  Blue  Marsh  'nd  back,  trampin'  the 
country  'nd  tearin'  her  clo'es  —  but  there,  never  mind,  Joy. 
I  guess  it 's  all  right,  'nd  does  you  good ;  more  'n  likely  it 
keeps  you  from  bein'  weakly  like  other  girls."  Then 
followed  a  low  explanation  about  himself,  which  Mark  did 
not  hear,  and  a  moment  later  the  kitchen  door  swung  open, 
and  a  tall  old  man,  heavy  browed,  but  kindly  in  expression, 
stood  looking  down  on  him. 

"Keep  ye'r  seat,  keep  ye'r  seat,"  he  said,  as  Mark  rose. 
"  Well,  well.  They  tell  me  ye  're  stranded,  so  to  speak." 

"Why,  not  exactly  stranded  —  I  've  been  on  a  bit  of  a 
cruise,  and  have  just  cast  anchor  here  for  the  night,  and  to 
take  in  supplies."  Mark  glanced  toward  the  table  from 
which  he  had  risen. 

"  You  just  sit  still  'nd  keep  on  loadin'  up.  You  've  struck 
the  right  place  for  that.  Marthy  knows  what's  what. 
Marthy,  where  are  those  things  I  'm  to  bear  aloft?" 

"They're  on  the  porch  yet.  Now,  Mr.  Thorn,  you  sit 
still  'nd  rest  —  or  perhaps  you  'd  rather  go  to  your  room." 

Joyful  had  just  passed  out,  and  was  seated  on  the  upper 


SKIED  2$ 

step  of  the  little  piazza,  her  hands  clasped  about  one  knee, 
and  her  head  thrown  back  against  the  railing,  listening  to 
the  whippoorwills,  and  watching  the  wheeling  swallows 
overhead. 

"  It 's  too  charming  to  go  into  any  room  such  an  evening 
as  this.  If  I  shall  not  be  intruding,  may  I  sit  here  with  you 
a  while  ?  Oh,  leave  those  things,  Mr.  Heatherby.  I  '11  take 
them  up  later.  Draw  your  chair  out  here,  and  we  '11  chat 
a  while,  if  you  don't  mind.  Mrs.  Heatherby,  let  me  take 
that.  Where  shall  I  put  it  —  here  ?"  He  placed  the  great 
rocker  she  brought  out  near  Joyful.  "  No,  no.  You  take 
it.  I  '11  sit  here  with  you,  if  I  may,  Miss  Heatherby." 

He  sat  on  the  opposite  end  of  the  step,  and  Joyful  opened 
her  large  eyes  and  looked  into  his  with  grave  dignity.  She 
had  been  called  Miss  Heatherby  for  the  first  time  in  her  life. 
Then  she  smiled  assent  to  his  question,  and  looked  away 
into  the  gathering  shadows,  but  did  not  speak.  Again 
Mark's  readiness  of  speech  left  him,  and  he  fell  to  wonder- 
ing about  this  flower  of  the  wilderness. 

Mrs.  Heatherby,  in  the  rocker,  swayed  quietly  to  and  fro. 
"I  guess  I  won't  light  up  indoors  'f  we  're  goin'  to  sit  here; 
it  only  draws  millers,"  she  said.  Hergoodman  had  taken 
the  light  and  disappeared  with  it  in  the  kitchen.  They  sat 
silent  then,  while  the  dark  woods  grew  darker,  and  the  stars 
twinkled  out  one  by  one,  and  the  swallows  circled  above 
them,  and  the  whippoorwills  insisted  on  Will's  being 
whipped,  and  the  sound  of  the  surf  was  heard  away  over 
beyond  the  point  that  separated  their  little  bay  from  the 
great  restless  ocean.  It  was  a  moment  of  restful  peace  in 
Mark's  life  that  he  never  afterward  forgot.  Presently  the 
grandfather  joined  them,  coming  around  the  house  from 


26  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

the  rear,  with  his  pipe  in  his  hand.  He  tossed  something 
into  the  little  maid's  lap.  She  took  it  up  and  held  it  to  her 
face.  It  was  a  tuft  of  purple,  lilac-like  bloom. 

"What 're  ye  all  keepin'  so  still  about?"  he  said. 

Joyful  smelled  her  lilacs,  but  said  nothing.  He  seated 
himself  at  her  feet,  and  she  ran  her  fingers  through  his  thin, 
silvery  locks.  There  seemed  to  be  a  tacit  understanding 
between  them. 

"I  opine  you  're  a  pretty  tired  little  girl  to-night,"  he  said. 

"I  guess  we're  all  ready  to  rest  a  spell,"  said  Mrs. 
Heatherby. 

"We're  listening,  grand-daddy.  I  love  to  listen  in  the 
evenings,  and  smell  the  lilacs." 

"So  do  I.  The  time  of  the  lilacs  is  the  sweetest  time  of 
the  year,"  said  Mark. 

"If  you  like  them,  too,  you  may  have  half  of  mine."  She 
broke  her  spray  and  handed  him  a  part.  Again  she  looked 
frankly  in  his  face.  In  the  dusk  he  felt,  rather  than  saw 
the  gaze,  and  it  pleased  him.  "  She  has  the  good  sense  and 
openness  of  innocence,"  he  thought.  In  after  years  the 
odor  of  lilacs  always  brought  to  him  the  feeling  of  that 
twilight,  and  the  girl  with  her  hand  on  her  grandfather's 
hair,  the  swaying  rocker,  the  darkening  woods,  the  far-off 
sea,  and  the  watching  stars  overhead. 

The  old  man  led  Mark  into  conversation,  and  they  chatted 
long,  while  Joyful  listened  and  dreamed;  and  that  night 
when  she  laid  her  head  on  her  pillow,  she  thought  how  she 
had  been  called  "Miss  Heatherby,"  and  that  now  indeed 
she  was  become  a  woman,  and  must  "put  away  childish 
things." 

Then  her  thoughts  wandered  to  the  talk  of  the  stranger 


SKIED  27 

with  her  grandfather,  of  the  lands  where  he  had  been; 
and  the  world  seemed  to  have  grown  suddenly  larger  to  her 
since  she  had  said  good-bye  to  Elizabeth,  and  turned  into 
the  wagon  way  through  the  woods.  To  be  sure,  she  had 
talked  with  Elizabeth  and  her  mother  of  the  cities  where 
they  had  been,  and  she  had  read  books,  and  many  of  them  — 
for  there  was  a  whole  closet  full  of  them  in  the  upper  hall, 
which  had  belonged  to  her  mother's  father  —  but  with  all 
this,  the  world  outside  the  village  and  their  own  little  cove 
had  always  seemed  to  her  a  sort  of  dream  world,  vague  and 
far  away.  To-night  it  had  suddenly  become  very  real. 

This  stranger  had  come  to  them  from  out  of  it  all  —  from 
somewhere  —  from  almost  everywhere,  it  seemed,  bringing 
with  him  the  atmosphere  of  some  other  environment.  He 
was  not  like  Nathanael,  he  was  not  like  Jack.  He  was 
absolutely  different,  in  many  subtle,  undefinable  ways, — 
she  scarcely  understood  wherein  they  all  lay.  Could  Mark 
have  looked  into  the  girl's  mind  he  would  not  have  wondered 
at  the  grave,  searching  gaze  that  met  his  own  at  intervals, 
as  if  looking  into  his  very  soul. 

She  was  to  him  a  "rara  avis,"  to  be  examined,  classified, 
labeled,  and  placed  among  his  character  studies.  To  her 
he  was  a  new  creature,  come  from  a  world  heretofore  peopled 
with  dream  folk.  With  childlike  simplicity  she  took  note 
of  all  his  ways,  the  tones  of  his  voice,  its  every  inflection, 
and  all  his  small,  unconscious  courtesies.  With  unerring 
instinct  he  was  being  weighed  in  the  balance,  unknown  to 
himself. 


CHAPTER  II 

A    SLIGHT   MISUNDERSTANDING 

"  She  heard  with  patience  all  unto  the  end  ; 
And  strove  to  master  sorrowfull  assay, 
Which  greater  grew,  the  more  she  did  contend, 
And  almost  rent  her  tender  heart  in  tway ; 
And  love  fresh  coles  unto  her  fire  did  lay  : 
For  greater  love  the  greater  is  the  loss. 
Was  never  lady  loved  dearer  day 
Then  she  did  love  the  Knight  of  the  Redcrosse ; 
For  whose  dear  sake  so  many  troubles  did  her  toss." 

—  The  Faerie  Queene. 

ELIZABETH  loved  her  flowers.  Those  who  knew  her  well, 
always  knew  when  they  might  find  her  in  her  garden.  This 
morning  she  stooped  over  a  bed  of  forget-me-nots  in  a  damp 
corner  near  the  garden  wall,  where  lilies  of  the  valley  grew 
thickly  among  the  tender  blue  flowers.  A  huge  spruce 
tree,  with  spreading  branches,  kept  the  spot  always  shaded, 
and  some  hidden  spring  kept  it  always  damp.  Close  to 
the  wall,  delicate  ferns  unrolled  themselves  and  flourished 
in  the  rich  leaf  mold  Elizabeth  had  placed  there  for  their 
own  particular  pleasure. 

It  was  still  early.  The  sun  had  but  just  removed  his 
cloud  cap,  and  was  yawning  over  the  sea,  taking  his  first 
peep  at  New  England,  and  winking  at  the  thrifty  people 
already  setting  out  on  their  day's  labor.  Elizabeth  held 
a  small  trowel  in  her  hand,  with  which  she  prodded  among 


A  SLIGHT  MISUNDERSTANDING  29 

the  roots.  Presently  she  straightened  herself,  lifting  a  long 
trailing  piece  of  chickweed,  and  tossed  it  out  on  the  walk 
behind  her  with  an  emphatic  "There!"  Looking  up  she 
saw  a  pleasant  pair  of  blue  eyes,  and  a  smiling  face  above 
the  wall. 

"Why,  Nathanael !  I  had  no  idea  anyone  would  be  along 
at  this  hour,"  she  cried,  half  reproachfully,  glancing  down 
at  her  tucked-up  skirts,  and  putting  back  a  wisp  of  radiant 
hair  with  her  wrist,  which  her  fingers  were  too  covered  with 
soil  to  touch. 

"No  ?  Haven't  I  as  much  right  to  be  here  at  this  hour 
as  you  ?  That 's  a  great  good  morning."  He  laughed,  and 
then  they  both  laughed.  He  placed  his  hands  on  the  top 
of  the  wall,  and  leaped  to  a  seat  on  its  broad  surface. 

"I  suppose  you  have,  as  long  as  you  stay  on  the  other  side 
of  the  wall."  She  felt  a  flush  mounting  to  her  face,  as  it 
had  the  evening  before,  when  she  bent  over  her  tulips,  and 
stooping,  she  dug  her  trowel  deep  among  the  plants. 

"You  '11  uproot  all  those,  if  you  dig  among  them  in  that 
way ;  now  look  what  you  've  done."  She  pulled  up  a  spray 
covered  with  tiny  blue  blossoms.  "Don't  throw  it  away  — 
give  it  to  me."  She  tossed  it  across  the  intervening  space, 
and  he  began  arranging  the  flowers  in  a  cluster.  "  Give  me 
a  few  of  those  lilies  of  the  valley  to  go  with  them,"  he 
begged,  and  she  did  so.  "Now,  that's  something  like." 
He  surveyed  his  bouquet  critically.  "Tell  you  what  —  if 
I  went  at  my  farming  as  you  go  at  your  gardening,  I  would  n't 
have  a  hill  of  potatoes  left." 

"This  is  n't  the  way  I  garden.  I  'm  vexed  because  of  that 
teasing  chickweed  —  and  —  why  did  you  come  here  and 
catch  me  looking  like  this  ? " 


3o  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

"I  beg  your  pardon.  I  was  just  thinking  you  never 
looked  better." 

She  laughed.     " Thank  you  for  the  compliment." 

He  placed  his  hoe  against  a  stone  in  the  foot  of  the  wall, 
and  with  a  bound  landed  on  the  path  at  her  side.  "I  came 
hoping  I  should  find  you  here.  I  Ve  a  letter  from  my 
brother,  at  last." 

She  became  grave  at  once.  "Come  to  the  piazza,  where 
we  can  talk  without  standing  in  the  wet,"  she  said.  "Wait 
a  moment  until  I  wash  this  earth  from  my  hands." 

There,  seated  on  the  low  piazza  steps,  Nathanael  read 
her  portions  of  his  brother's  letter.  "You  see  how  things 
stand,"  he  said,  at  last. 

"Yes.     I  suppose  his  college  career  is  ended." 

"I  suppose  so." 

"Now,  Nathanael,  listen  to  me."  Elizabeth  leaned  for- 
ward, and  looked  earnestly  at  him.  "Do  you  think  it  right 
that  you  should  sacrifice  yourself  any  longer  for  Jack  ?  " 

"Oh,  it  isn't  that.  I  haven't  sacrificed  myself,  as  you 
call  it  —  you  see  —  there 's  father — but  then  it  is  n't  that, 
either." 

"Well,"  she  said  at  last,  impatiently,  "you  prepared  your- 
self, and  worked  hard  for  the  money,  and  then  what  did 
you  do  ?  You  dropped  everything  and  spent  the  money  on 
a  boy  who  had  n't  the  grace  to  appreciate  it.  Now  he  leaves 
you  in  the  lurch,  with  all  the  spring  planting,  and  does  n't 
stick  to  college,  either.  You  have  a  right,  a  God-given  right, 
to  take  what  he  throws  away.  If  your  mother  were  living 
she  would  absolve  you  from  all  promises,  and  say  go." 

"What  thee  says  is  right,  Elizabeth."  It  was  the  little 
mother  who  spoke  from  her  chair  by  the  window,  where  the 


A  SLIGHT  MISUNDERSTANDING  31 

lace  curtains  floated  about  her.  She  was  knitting  from 
a  pile  of  white  wool  in  her  lap. 

"A  man  would  seem  a  fool  not  to  take  your  advice,  and 
yet  —  father  has  always  depended  on  having  one  of  us  with 
him,  and  a  fellow  of  Jack's  spirit  finds  it  pretty  hard.  He 
learns  easily.  If  he  would  only  persevere,  he  might  be 
somebody." 

"I  would  rather  have  your  strength  of  purpose  than  his 
cleverness  to  'make  somebody/  as  you  call  it,  of  a  man," 
said  Elizabeth. 

"Do  you  think  you  are  quite  fair  to  my  brother?" 

She  drew  her  brows  together  for  a  moment  in  thought. 
"Yes,  I  believe  I  am.  He  knows  he  is  clever  as  well  as  you 
do ;  and  he  ought  to  know  the  value  of  a  college  education. 
But  what  has  he  done  ?  Thrown  up  his  chances,  and  gone 
off  with  that  Captain  Tobit,  just  to  gratify  a  spirit  of  ad- 
venture. It  really  seems  an  ignoble  part  he  is  playing." 

"He  hasn't  gone  yet.  He's  to  spend  a  week  at  home 
first." 

"But  he 's  not  been  in  college  since  Christmas.  Do  you 
know  what  his  companionships  were  there?" 

"No  —  well  —  he  was  a  little  reckless,  but  I've  heard 
nothing  bad  about  him.  I  was  told  that  he  said  he  'gave  up 
and  cleared  out,  because  he  wished  me  to  have  his  chance.* 
You  see  that  makes  my  course  a  difficult  one." 

"May  I  ask  who  told  you  that?" 

"Certainly  —  it  was  Joyful  Heatherby.     Why?" 

"Because  we  had  been  told  something  so  very  different. 
It  was  a  friend  of  mother's  who  spoke  of  it, —  a  member  of 
the  Harvard  Faculty,  so  it  must  be  correct.  We  had  not 
meant  to  tell  you,  but  now  I  think  it  is  better  we  should. 


32  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

He  said  Jack  was  suspended,  and  went  off  with  this  captain, 
in  the  first  place,  because  he  did  not  wish  it  to  be  known  at 
home."  Nathanael  said  nothing,  but  turned  his  little 
bunch  of  flowers  about  in  his  hands,  thoughtfully.  "We 
know,  of  course,  there  are  two  sides  to  it,  but  you  came  for 
my  opinion,  and  here  it  is.  Since  Jack  has  taken  this  step, 
my  mind  is  very  clear.  You  have  always  lived  for  him  and 
your  father  —  now,  live  for  yourself  awhile." 

Nathanael  gave  a  short  laugh.  "Your  advice  falls  so  in 
line  with  my  inclination  that  it  blinds  me.  I  mean  it  makes 
it  hard  for  me  to  see  the  exact  rights  in  the  case." 

"It  is  the  exact  right,  Nathanael,  do  believe  me.  But 
She  was  wondering  how  Joyful  Heatherby  came  to 
know  so  much  about  Jack's  doings,  and  how  she  came  to 
tell  Nathanael. 

"It  is  easy  to  do  things  for  others  —  easier  than  for  one's 
self  alone.  I  owe  a  duty  to  father,  but  if  I  had  the  right  — " 
He  looked  at  her  and  paused.  His  blue  eyes  shone  with  a 
beautiful  light  from  within.  If  she  had  only  seen  it  —  but 
her  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  bed  of  tulips  —  she  would  have 
understood.  He  wanted  to  say :  "If  I  had  the  right  to  do 
it  for  you,"  but  at  present  he  had  earned  no  such  right,  so 
he  ended  lamely,  "If  there  were  some  one  else  besides 
father  and  Jack  to  whom  I  owed  allegiance,  for  whom  I 
should  live,  I  could  decide  in  a  moment." 

But  she,  not  looking  into  those  love-lighted  eyes,  and 
seeing  only  the  bed  of  tulips,  was  thinking  of  Joyful,  while 
he  —  stupid  fellow  —  did  he  not  know  that  love  must  come 
as  a  free  gift,  and  can  never  be  claimed  as  a  right  ?  This 
Elizabeth  could  have  told  him,  had  he  only  asked  her. 
How  could  she  know  it  was  for  her  when  she  was  thinking 


A  SLIGHT  MISUNDERSTANDING  33 

of  Joyful?  In  her  heart  she  said:  "He  wants  to  speak  to 
me  about  Joyful,  and  is  ashamed."  So  she  answered  coldly, 
but  conscientiously  gave  him  the  opportunity. 

"Joyful  Heatherby  stopped  here  a  moment,  last  evening. 
She  said  she  had  seen  you  —  that  you  had  carried  her  basket 
for  her."  He  looked  up  in  surprise  at  the  apparent  irrel- 
evancy, but  she  went  on,  severely  anxious  to  do  the  right 
thing.  "Was  it  then  she  told  you  what  Jack  had  said  ?" 

"Yes.  You  see,  that  puts  his  act  in  a  different  light. 
We  should  do  the  boy  justice,  Elizabeth.  It  no  longer 
seems  ungrateful,  but  noble." 

"Was  it  grateful  or  noble  for  him  to  keep  reckless  com- 
panionships, and  be  turned  out  of  college?" 

"He  has  retrieved  himself  now,  don't  you  think?" 

"Wait  and  see,  Nathanael."  She  spoke  his  name  with 
almost  a  caress  in  her  voice,  of  which  she  was  unaware,  but 
the  tone  quivered  among  his  heartstrings. 

"Yes,  I'll  wait.  You  are  good  to  take  this  interest;  it 
helps  me."  Then,  as  they  both  sat  silent  in  the  morning 
sun,  under  the  vine-covered  porch,  Mark  Thorn  passed  by. 
He  had  started  early,  thinking  to  do  a  little  work  by  the  way 
—  as  warm,  sunny  days  in  a  New  England  spring  are  none 
too  frequent  —  but  he  had  been  dreaming  along  and  had 
really  forgotten  to  look  for  a  subject. 

"I  can't  help  wondering  how  your  brother  came  to  tell 
Joyful  about  his  affairs,"  said  Elizabeth,  at  length. 

"That  is  one  of  the  things  that  troubles  me  most  in  the 
matter.  I  think  he  cares  for  the  child.  I  wished  to  tell 
you  of  it,  but  hardly  liked  to." 

"Why?"  Elizabeth  spoke  sharply,  but  the  pain  in  her 
heart  was  sharp. 


34  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

"She  is  such  a  child,  for  one  thing,  and  Jack  isn't  —  I 
can't  talk  about  it  now.  Perhaps  I  'm  mistaken."  Poor 
fellow  !  He  felt  Jack  had  no  right  to  entangle  the  girl  in  his 
uncertain  career,  and  wished  Elizabeth  to  help  protect  her, 
yet  did  not  like  to  speak  against  his  brother.  He  loved 
Elizabeth  so  deeply  and  tenderly,  he  could  not  think  her 
oblivious  of  the  fact.  It  seemed  to  him  that  his  love  cried 
aloud  to  her  in  all  he  said,  and  most  of  all  when  he  was 
silent;  and  so  he  stumbled  along  in  his  goodness,  trying 
to  be  loyal  to  his  brother,  and  blindly  driving  the  knife 
deeper  into  her  soul  and  his  own,  and  widening  the  space 
between  them. 

"Surely  he  loves  Joyful,"  she  said,  in  her  heart.  "He 
can't  speak  of  it." 

As  Mark  Thorn  passed  them,  in  one  keen  glance  he  took 
note  of  the  situation.  "This  must  be  the  little  maid's 
Elizabeth  Drew,  and  the  other  must  be  that  Nathanael. 
He  can't  be  Jack  —  not  the  right  type."  He  lifted  his  hat 
as  he  glanced  up,  but  they  both  gazed  dreamily  past  him. 
"If  I  were  in  the  South,  and  these  were  young  Southerners, 
they  would  have  given  me  a  pleasant  word,"  he  thought. 

After  a  moment  they  were  startled  from  their  reverie  by 
a  cheery,  "Good  morning."  The  young  artist  had  turned 
back,  and  was  leaning  over  the  gate,  hat  in  hand,  looking  at 
them  across  the  beds  of  tulips.  "Can  you  direct  me  to  the 
house  of  Mrs.  Somers,  who  takes  boarders  in  the  village  ?  " 

"  I  'm  going  that  way ;  I  '11  show  you."  Nathanael  slowly 
lifted  his  tall  form  from  the  step,  and  took  up  his  hoe.  He 
gave  Elizabeth  his  hand,  and  looked  straight  into  her  eyes 
for  an  instant.  His  eyes  were  windows  to  his  soul.  Alas 
that  there  should  have  been  a  veil  drawn  before  hers,  as  she 


A  SLIGHT  MISUNDERSTANDING  35 

returned  the  look.  "How  beautiful  it  makes  him  to  love 
Joyful!"  she  thought.  "Good-bye,"  she  said. 

"Will  you  come  to  choir  practice  this  evening?  Joyful 
said  she  would  be  there."  Oh,  foolish  Nathanael ! 

"I  —  can't  say.  I  fear  not,"  she  said,  turning  away. 
As  he  climbed  the  hill,  walking  beside  Mark  Thorn,  she 
turned  again,  and  looked  after  him.  "'Behold  a  Man  in 
whom  there  is  no  guile,' "  she  said  in  her  heart.  Then  she 
went  to  her  room  and  sat  looking  out  of  the  window,  yet 
seeing  nothing,  for  a  long  time.  Presently  a  single  tear 
dropped  on  her  folded  hands.  "How  utterly  absurd  of 
me  ! "  she  said,  wiping  it  hastily  away.  Then  she  rose  and 
bathed  her  face,  and  re-dressed  her  glorious  hair. 

She  stood  before  the  glass,  and  combed  and  brushed  the 
beautiful  red-gold  waves  clustering  about  her  delicate  ears 
and  over  her  broad,  low  brow,  and  she  never  saw  that  she 
was  beautiful.  She  was  too  busy  considering  her  duty. 
She  must  hide  this  even  from  herself,  and  love  Joyful  as  she 
had  always  done,  and  help  her  to  become  a  fit  wife  for  such 
a  man.  Even  her  mother  must  never  guess  her  secret. 
To  this  end  she  spent  an  hour  doing  light  tasks  about  the 
house  before  she  reappeared,  and  at  last  came  down  with 
her  arms  full  of  summer  dresses  and  skirts  of  her  own. 

"What  ails  thee,  Elizabeth?  Thee  looks  pale,"  said 
Mrs.  Drew,  gently. 

"Nothing  ails  me,  mother,"  she  laughed.  "I  shan't 
let  Mrs.  Somers  come  to  see  thee  any  more,  if  she  tells  thee 
I  look  peaked,  as  she  did  last  night.  Thee  knows  she  always 
makes  mountains  out  of  molehills.  Thee  remembers  she 
said  last  evening  that  Mrs.  Heatherby  was  ill  ?  But  Joyful 
told  me  it  was  a  week  ago,  and  only  for  one  day." 


36  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

"Mrs.  Somers  hath  little  wit,  though  a  ready  tongue. 
But  she  means  well." 

Elizabeth  spread  out  before  her  mother  a  silken-lined 
India  muslin  dress,  daintily  trimmed  with  shirred  ribbon 
and  lace.  "Look  at  this,  mother.  Whatever  can  I  do  with 
it  ?  I  wore  it  two  winters  ago,  at  dances  and  dinners,  and 
it 's  all  out  of  date,  and  too  pretty  to  throw  aside.  I  believe 
I  '11  make  it  over  for  Joyful ;  and  this,  too."  She  took  a 
pink  dimity  from  the  heap,  and  gave  it  a  shake.  "  Would  n't 
Joy  look  like  an  apple  blossom  in  this?  'How  absurd  for 
me,  with  my  red  hair,  to  wear  pink  !  But  I  did  it,  and 
didn't  know  but  it  was  all  right.  Thee  never  told  me, 
mother.  Thee  kept  to  thy  drab  —  with  a  bit  of  real  lace  — 
for  thee  has  a  little  vanity  of  thy  own,  thee  knows  —  but 
as  long  as  I  never  forgot  to  use  the  plain  language  to  thee, 
thee  let  me  wear  all  kinds  of  colors  with  my  red  hair." 
Elizabeth  rearranged  her  mother's  lace  cap  and  silvery  hair, 
and  kissed  her. 

"Thee  is  thy  father's  own  daughter,  Elizabeth,  and  though 
he  was  no  Friend,  a  Godly  man  was  thy  father.  He  won 
me  from  a  strict  Friends'  home,  but  we  agreed  that  we  would 
neither  interfere  with  the  faith  of  the  other,  and  we  were 
always  happy,  thy  father  and  I.  I  went  more  often  with 
him  to  the  read  prayers  and  services  of  his  church,  but  he 
did  not  neglect  to  go  at  times  with  me  to  our  simple  worship, 
and  it  is  my  belief  that  he  often  came  away  refreshed  in 
spirit.  He  hath  gone  before,  and  waits  my  coming  now." 

The  dear  old  lady  sat  with  white  hands  folded  over  her 
white  wool  knitting,  looking  as  if  she  saw  him  waiting.  Her 
physical  frailty  made  her  seem  older  than  she  was,  and  she 
looked  so  spirit-like  that  Elizabeth  lived  in  constant  dread 


A  SLIGHT  MISUNDERSTANDING  37 

lest  she  become  spirit  altogether.  Her  love  for  her  mother 
was  a  passionate  adoration,  that  seemed  to  cast  a  halo  about 
both  their  lives. 

"Thee  mustn't  think  of  going.  Thee  is  all  I  have, 
mother."  She  spoke  frantically. 

Her  mother  replied  with  a  quiet  smile.  "Nay,  daughter, 
I  have  no  desire  to  leave  thee.  I  will  stay  as  long  as  the 
Lord  will  let  me." 

"Mother,  what  does  thee  think  of  making  these  over  for 
Joy?  Look  at  them." 

"I  fear  thee  '11  put  worldly  ideas  in  the  child's  head,  if  thee 
dresses  her  in  these."  . 

Elizabeth  laughed.  "They  didn't  put  worldly  ideas  in 
my  head,  mother.  Thee  always  loved  to  see  me  in  pretty 
dresses,  thee  knows." 

"Thy  station  was  different.  Joyful  lives  in  the  woods, 
and  her  grandfather  is  a  fisherman,  with  little  to  spare  for 
her,  should  he  die.  Where  could  she  wear  clothes  like 
these?" 

"To  church,  and  afternoon,  with  me.  I'll  take  off  the 
ribbon  and  lace,  and  make  them  very  simply."  Elizabeth's 
heroic  nature  was  bent  on  making  her  self-abnegation 
generously.  Joyful  should  grow  wiser  and  more  beautiful 
under  her  guardianship.  This  would  she  do  for  Nathanael. 
And  he,  as  he  walked  on  at  Mark  Thorn's  side,  swinging 
his  hoe  in  one  hand,  and  carrying  Elizabeth's  flowers  in  the 
other,  was  thinking  only  of  her  as  the  star  toward  which 
he  had  set  his  hopes,  to  be  his,  if  ever  he  might  reach  so 
high. 

As  Nathanael  replied  to  his  few  questions,  Mark  could  see 
that  his  thoughts  were  elsewhere.  He  felt  some  contrition 


38  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

for  having  broken  up  so  charming  a  tableau,  but  now  that 
it  was  done,  he  would  study  the  man  a  little.  To  be  sure, 
he  might  choose  to  leave  this  place  next  day,  and  never 
see  him  again,  but  what  of  that  ?  Mark  never  saw  the  being 
yet  who  did  not  interest  him.  The  fact  helped  to  make 
his  itineracy  possible. 

"Don't  let  me  take  you  out  of  your  way,"  he  said.  "I 
would  n't  have  troubled  you,  but  I  'm  a  total  stranger  here." 

"No  trouble,  no  trouble.     I  was  going  this  way  myself." 

"You  don't  often  have  weather  like  this  in  May?" 

"Not  often,  no." 

"Rather  awkward,  having  no  railway  station  nearer  than 
Willoughby  Junction."  Mark  shifted  his  load  a  little. 

"Yes,  yes  it  is,"  said  Nathanael,  waking  up  again.  "The 
place  is  pleasanter  without  it,  though." 

"I  agree  with  you.  Pity  the  one  item  of  transportation 
should  involve  so  much  that  is  disagreeable  —  spoil  so  much 
country  —  make  so  much  noise  and  dirt." 

"Yes,  yes,  I  suppose  so.  The  roads  open  up  the  country, 
though."  . 

"Certainly  —  still,  a  man  in  my  line  of  work  doesn't 
appreciate  the  need  of  having  the  country  opened  up.  It 
mostly  spoils  it  —  it  ceases  to  be  primitive,  and  becomes 
commonplace  —  and  commonplaceness,  you  know,  with  us, 
is  a  sort  of  crime." 

Nathanael  then,  for  the  first  time,  took  notice  of  his  com- 
panion. "We  turn  here,"  he  said.  "You  are  an  artist, 
I  see.  Let  me  assist  you." 

"No,  no.  I  should  feel  lost  without  these  traps  of  mine. 
I  Ve  tramped  among  the  lakes  of  Maine  for  hundreds  of  miles 
with  them." 


A  SLIGHT  MISUNDERSTANDING  39 

"Ever  been  in  this  section  before?" 

"Not  in  this  immediate  neighborhood,  no.  I  heard  a 
couple  talking  on  the  train  of  Woodbury  Center,  and  some- 
thing about  a  marsh.  I  knew  the  sea  was  within  easy  reach, 
and  the  combination  tempted  me.  Acting  on  impulse,  I 
had  my  luggage  put  off  at  Willoughby  Junction,  and  then 
learned  my  only  way  of  getting  here  was  to  tramp  it." 

"All  the  way  from  the  Junction  this  morning  ?  You  must 
have  gotten  an  early  start." 

"No.     I  stopped  overnight  about  a  mile  back." 

"At  Heatherby's  cove?"  said  Nathanael,  with  a  touch 
of  surprise. 

"Yes."  Mark  noted  the  tone,  and  preferring  not  to  go 
into  detail,  continued,  "They  told  me  of  Mrs.  Somers'  place. 
What  kind  of  a  house  does  she  keep  ?  Do  you  know  ?  " 

"Very  good,  I  am  told.     She  —  Do  you  stay  long?" 

"I  can't  say.  I'm  a  sort  of  an  itinerant  all  summer. 
Where  the  occasion  demands,  or  the  mood  takes  me,  I  go 
and  gather  material.  My  real  work  is  done  in  the  studio, 
in  winter.  But  you  interrupted  yourself.  This  Mrs. 
Somers  —  is  she  — " 

"Oh,  it  won't  take  long  for  you  to  see  what  she  is  —  a 
busy,  overworked,  overtalkative  little  woman;  but  she 
means  well." 

Mark  laughed.  "Thank  you.  I  see.  Did  you  ever 
notice  it's  the  well-meaning  people  in  this  world  who  do 
half  the  mischief  that  is  done  in  it  ? " 

Nathanael  smiled,  and  gave  Mark  a  keen,  blue  flash  of  a 
glance.  "  You  Ve  been  about  the  world  a  good  deal,  I 
judge." 

"  I  'm  a  species  of  tramp.    They  're  of  all  castes,  you  know. ' ' 


40  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

"There's  Mrs.  Somers'  place  just  ahead.    That's  her 
husband  pottering  around  in  front." 
"Oh,  there's  a  Mr.  Somers,  is  there?" 
"Yes.    I'll  leave  you  to  his  tender  mercies." 
"Thank  you  greatly  for  your  kindness.     I  hope,  if  I  stay 
any  length  of  time,  I  may  have  the  pleasure  of  meeting  you 
again.    Thorn  is  my  name,  Mark  Thorn." 

"Thank  you.  My  name  is  Stoddard.  I  should  be  glad 
to  have  you  call,  but  I  'm  usually  off  in  the  fields  somewhere. 
Our  farm  is  pretty  well  scattered.  We  live  a  lonely  life, 
my  father  and  I  and  an  old  Irish  housekeeper.  I  'm  more 
at  home  in  a  potato  patch  or  a  cornfield  than  anywhere  else, 
I  'm  afraid."  He  spoke  sadly,  but  with  a  laugh,  and  turned 
away.  Mark  cast  a  kindly  glance  after  him.  He  found 
him  decidedly  interesting. 


CHAPTER  in 

HEATHERBY'S  BOY 

Deeper  than  scorn  and  swifter  than  sorrow, — 

Higher  than  stars  and  freer  than  winds ; 
Love  flies  beyond  in  the  golden  to-morrow, — 

Trailing  his  chains,  each  mortal  he  binds ; 
No  sea  so  wide  that  Love  may  not  follow,  — 

Peasant  or  king  he  blesses  and  blinds ; 
Strong  as  the  sunbeams  and  light  as  the  swallow,^ 

Sweet  the  enslavement  of  all  whom  he  finds. 

THE  rambling  house  which  Nathanael  pointed  out  to 
Mark  was  built  with  its  side  close  to  the  street,  bringing  its 
closed,  green  window  blinds  quite  within  reach  of  passers-by. 
At  the  end,  some  three  feet  lower  than  the  street,  was  an 
old  orchard,  where  the  grass  grew  long  and  thick.  A  few 
rosebushes  grew  about  the  edges  of  this  sunken  square,  and 
near  the  house  a  hammock  swung  between  two  apple  trees. 
In  the  hammock  sat  Jane  Somers,  sewing,  and  a  large- 
nosed  young  man  stood  leaning  against  a  tree  near  by, 
watching  her.  They  had  been  talking  about  Nathanael  as 
they  saw  him  advancing  down  the  street,  and  Jane  chose 
not  to  see  the  stranger  now  stopping  at  the  gate.  She  did 
not  wish  her  chat  broken  in  upon,  and  at  any  rate  "Pa  was 
there  —  he  could  see  what  was  wanted,"  so  she  sewed  on. 
Mark  heard  the  words,  "walking  with  Joy  Heatherby 
yesterday,"  and  guessed  of  what  she  was  speaking.  The 

41 


42  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

young  man  mumbled  something  in  nasal  tones,  and  Jane 
laughed  shrilly. 

"Pa  "  conducted  Mark  in,  and  he  heard  no  more.  "Pa" 
was  very  tall,  stoop  shouldered,  large  eyed  and  thin,  with 
slow,  hesitating  manner  of  speech. 

"Ma  must  be  somewhere  about."  He  "would  go  and 
find  Ma." 

Mark  looked  about  the  room.  Two  things  were  so  promi- 
nent that  ah1  else  inside  its  four  walls  seemed  to  fade  out  of 
existence.  These  two  were  the  carpet  and  the  piano.  The 
blinds  had  been  tightly  closed  to  keep  the  sun  from  fading 
the  former,  unfortunately,  Mark  thought,  for  it  would  take 
several  years  of  continual  fading  to  make  it  endurable. 
The  piano  was  too  uncompromisingly  new,  hard,  and  polished 
for  any  fading  process  to  soften  its  ostentatious  presence. 
It  grinned  at  Mark  with  its  ivory  keys,  like  a  row  of  false 
teeth.  On  its  great  shiny  lid  was  a  sheet  of  music  called 
"Affection's  Offering,"  presented  to  Jane  by  the  large- 
nosed  young  man.  At  least  that  was  Mark's  thought  as  he 
sat  there  waiting  for  "Ma." 

"This  is  an  idyllic  sort  of  place,"  he  commented.  "First 
comes  quaint  little  Joyful  and  a  yet-to-be-seen  Jack ;  then 
Elizabeth  and  Nathanael,  and  here  a  young  couple  lounging 
in  the  orchard,  and  'Affection's  Offering '  reposing  on  the 
piano." 

"Ma"  had  been  frying  doughnuts  in  the  kitchen.  She 
bustled  in,  perspiring  at  every  wrinkle,  and  the  odor  of 
frying  fat  which  bustled  in  with  her  seemed  decidedly 
incongruous  in  that  violently  neat  room.  As  Mark  was  con- 
ducted upstairs  and  through  the  hall,  the  whole  house,  as 
much  as  he  could  see  of  it,  struck  him  as  being  also  violently 


HEATHERBY'S  BOY  43 

neat ;  and  yet,  as  Mrs.  Somers  jerked  herself  about  the  room 
to  which  she  was  consigning  him,  she  continually  wiped  at 
imaginary  dust  spots  on  bureau,  window  sills,  and  chairs, 
with  her  apron. 

"I  'm  sure  I  hope  you  '11  be  comfortable.  I  do  the  best 
I  can  f'r  my  boarders,  'f  I  do  hev  to  do  it  all  alone,  so  to 
speak."  She  seized  hold  of  a  window  and  rattled  it  violently 
open  —  a  peg  kind  of  fastening  had  to  be  pulled  out,  and 
kept  from  snapping  back,  when  the  window  was  lowered 
or  raised  —  and  she  opened  the  outside  blinds  and  threw 
them  back  with  a  slam.  The  orchard  was  just  below,  and 
a  shriek  of  laughter  from  Jane  sounded  an  unpleasant  con- 
trast to  the  low  song  he  had  heard  at  sunrise,  as  Joyful 
Heatherby  washed  the  milk  pans  outside  the  summer  kitchen 
underneath  his  window. 

"Somers  —  Somers  !"  called  "Ma"  from  the  top  of  the 
stairs.  "Well,  I  did  think  he  'd  hev  th'  sense  to  fetch  up 
them  things.  Somers !  Fetch  up  them  things,  won't 
you?  Is  there  anything  we  c'n  do  f'r  you  before  dinner, 
Mr.  Thorn  ?  I  'm  sure  I  — " 

Mark  hastened  to  ask,  before  she  could  tell  him  again 
that  she  did  the  best  she  could  for  her  boarders,  if  he  could 
get  his  box  brought  over  from  Willoughby  Junction. 

"I  guess  Somers  c'n  fetch  it  for  you  in  th'  dem'crat. 
Somers,  can't  ye  fetch  over  his  —  what  is  it,  did  you  say  — 
box?  Is  it  a  big  one?" 

"My  trunk,  I  mean.    No,  —  not  very." 

"Can't  ye  fetch  over  his  trunk  f'm  the  station  before 
dinner?"  Somers  set  Mark's  belongings  inside  the  door, 
and  thought  slowly  about  it.  "  Can't  ye  put  'em  over  there 
out  o'  the  way?  Well,  er  you  goin'  to,  er  ain't  you?" 


44  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

"  Guess  I  can.  Better  start  after  dinner,  Ma,  't  's  most 
nine  now,  'nd  it  takes  half  an  hour  to  hitch  up." 

"For  th'  land's  sake!  Most  nine?  Mr.  Thorn,  you 
must  make  yerself  to  home  wherever  ye  be.  I  '11  go  and 
hurry  up  about  them  pies.  Somers,  you'd  better  get 
hitched  up  now;  'f  you  wait  till  after  dinner,  th'  's  no 
tellin'  when  y'  will  get  started." 

She  bustled  off,  and  "Pa"  slowly  crept  downstairs  after 
her,  and  out  to  hitch  up.  Mark  felt  himself  growing  dis- 
tinctly sorry  for  him,  but  he  need  not  have  been.  "Pa" 
was  contented  to  let  "Ma"  earn  a  living  for  him  while  he 
sat  around  at  the  village  store,  and  dreamily  gossiped  with 
those  who  dropped  in.  He  certainly  was  "  enough  to  try 
the  patience  of  a  Saint,"  as  his  spouse  often  remarked. 
She  had  been  remarking  it  for  twenty-five  years. 

Mark  had  knocked  about  the  world  enough  to  be  able  to 
take  things  as  he  found  them.  As  this  was  the  only  board- 
ing house  in  the  village,  it  must  serve  his  purpose.  He 
congratulated  himself  that,  if  the  weather  was  fair,  he  need 
spend  but  little  time  on  the  premises,  and  rejoiced  in  the 
fact  that  he  had  arranged  for  a  sail  that  afternoon  with 
the  old  fisherman.  Accordingly,  after  dinner,  he  climbed  to 
a  seat  in  the  democrat  beside  Mr.  Somers,  to  ride  as  far  as 
the  road  leading  to  the  cove,  and  as  they  jogged  along,  the 
personal  history  of  various  inhabitants  was  monotonously 
droned  out  to  him.  Aided  by  a  few  questions  now  and  then, 
to  keep  the  old  man  from  too  frequent  digression,  he  soon 
had  the  cream  of  the  village  gossip,  when  he  adroitly  turned 
the  stream  of  talk  in  the  direction  of  those  in  whom  he  had 
already  begun  to  take  an  artist's  interest. 

"Heatherbys?    Yes,  they've  always  lived  wheer  they 


HEATHERBY'S  BOY  45 

be,  'nd  his  father  before  him,  'nd  his  father  before  him, 
more'n  likely.  Mrs.  Heatherby,  she  was  a  Spinner,  'nd 
come  f  up  Lynn  way.  Never  knowed  how  he  come  to  fall 
in  with  her,  but  the'  do  say-  What  say?" 

"Are  they  quite  alone?  Have  they  no  one  but  this 
granddaughter  ?  " 

"  Guess  they  be.  She 's  all  they  hev'  now.  Well,  ye  see 
't  was  this  way.  They  had  one  son  't  they  just  lived  and 
breathed  for.  They  scraped  'nd  saved  'nd  give  him  a  good 
ed'cation,  college,  'nd  well,  he  was  wuth  it.  He  was  a  good 
boy,  fer  a  fact.  I  d'  know 's  I  ever  heard  o'  that  boy  doin' 
anything  out  o'  the  way  —  but  then  —  Id'  know 's  you  'd 
expect  it.  Boys  is  a  good  deal  like  the  stock  they  come 
from.  Now  on  his  ma's  side,  the'  was  a  minister  on  her 
side,  they  say.  Anyway,  they  're  good  stock.  I  d'  know 's 
any  o'  them  're  left  or  not.  I  never  heard  o'  but  one  brother, 
'nd  he  was  drowned  some  three  years  back.  He  was  a 
cap'n,  'nd  he  was  out —  What  say?" 

"What  became  of  the  boy?" 

"The  boy?  Oh,  he  growed  up  all  right.  Fine  boy,  too. 
Didn't  make  e'zactly  what  she  set  out  to  make  of  him, 
though.  Well,  ye  see,  't  was  this  way.  She  's  pretty  set, 
Mrs.  Heatherby  is,  'nd  she  'd  lay'd  out  to  make  a  minister 
out  o'  him,  same 's  one  o'  her  forbears  was,  'r  a  teacher  — 
somethin'  settled  down,  but  Land's  sakes,  make  a  settled- 
down  man  out  o'  a  boy  whose  forbears  was  all  sea  cap'ns 
on  both  sides,  pretty  much !  There  was  her  father,  'nd 
his  father  'fore  him,  'nd  there  was  her  uncle,  'nd  her  brother 
—  all  she  ever  had  —  all  lost  their  lives  on  the  sea  —  'nd 
there  was  Heatherby's  father,  'nd  all  th'  men  folks  on  his 
side,  they  Ve  always  owned  that  cove  'nd  a  few  acres  o' 


46  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

land,  'nough  to  keep  th'  women  folks  on  —  sort  o'  family 
anchorage,  so  to  speak.  Men  all  followed  the  sea  —  born 
in  'em.  Might 's  well  set  out  to  fetch  up  a  calf  out  o'  a  mon- 
key 's  turn  a  born  seaman  into  a  minister  or  a  college  profes- 
sor. Not  but  what  they  was  good  stock  —  good  pious  folk, 
fer's  I  see,  but  the'  was—  What  say?" 

"Did  the  boy  take  to  the  sea,  then?" 

"Like  a  fish.  Well,  ye  see,  'twas  this  way.  Guess  he 
had  n't  no  idee  o'  goin'  'gainst  his  ma's  will  so  —  any  rate 
he  stuck  to  the  studyin'  —  guess  he  liked  it  first-rate,  too. 
Summers  he  'd  spend  on  th'  water,  cruisin'  round  with  his 
father.  They  had  a  first-rate  boat  them  days  —  good  fishin' 
boat.  Don 't  know  what 's  become  of  it.  Some  say  't  was 
lost,  'nd  some  say  't  was  sold,  but  if  't  was,  no  one  ever  heard 
what  he  got  f'r  it.  Heatherby,  he  's  close  mouthed,  'nd  I 
d'  know 's  —  What  say  ?  The  boy  ?  Yes,  he  went  through 
college  all  right,  no  mistake.  Guess  he  was  up  to  th'  top 
there,  anyway  he  was  cap'n  o'  their  boat  crew,  'nd  they 
went  over  to  England  'nd  rowed  there,  'nd  he  like  to  beat 
the  Johnnies  all  out,  —  so  the'  say.  That  boy,  he  was 
a  big  fellow  —  big  frame  like  his  father.  He  c'ld  pull  a 
boat  —  well,  you  never  see  —  he  c'ld  pull  like  an  ox,  'nd 
give  orders  like  a  admiral.  They  were  all  that  way,  the 
Heatherbys  —  all  commandin'.  His  father  wan't  so  much 
so,  but  his  grandfather,  why,  I  've  heard  them  'at  knew 
him  say  th'  wan't  nobody  't  could  stand  agin  his  eye. 
That  was  like  the  boy.  He  c'ld  hold  his  own  wherever  he 
went,  'nd  the'  wan't  nobody  but  what  he  c'ld  have  his  way 
with.  Well,  when  he  come  back  f'm  England  with  the 
college  crew,  you  never  see  any  man  finer  lookin'  nor  rosier. 
His  ma  thought  the'  never  was  a  boy  on  earth  before.  Well, 


HEATHERBY'S  .BOY  47 

that 's  natur'l,  ma's  is  apt  to  be  that  way.  Now,  I  knew 
a  woman  once,  her  name  was  Wade.  She  was  a  widow,  'nd 
she  had  three  boys  —  What  say  ?  " 

"Is  the  young  girl  there  his  daughter?" 

"Who?  Joy?  Yes,  she  was  his  girl.  Well,  you  can't 
have  any  idee  unless  you  Ve  watched  folks  's  I  have,  how 
them  that 's  born  to  the  sea  pine  away  on  land.  Now  that 
boy,  he  tried  to  work  out  his  ma's  plans,  spent  a  year  back 
in  New  York  State,  I  d'  know  where,  nor  what  he  was  doin', 
but  he  was  just  climbin'  up  —  so  the'  say  —  but  when  he 
come  home,  I  see  he  wan't  what  he  was,  'nd  I  says  to  S'phi 
—  that's  Mrs.  Somers  —  her  name's  S'phi,  —  I  says,  that 
fish  '11  die  'f  he  don't  have  salt  water,  'r  salt  air.  He 
looked  's  if  he  'd  been  fed  on  chalk  'nd  water,  'nd  his  eyes  's 
big  'nd  black  'nd  hollow  's  two  burnt  holes  'n  a  blanket. 
It  does  beat  all  how  little  some  o'  these  great  strappin'  men 
c'n  stand.  Now  I  had  a  brother  once,  he  was  twice  my 
heft  —  he  up  'nd  died  with  typhoid  pneumonia,  'nd  he 
won't  sick  a  week.  I'd  —  What  say?" 

" Did  he  go  to  sea?" 

"Who?    My  brother?    No,  he  died." 

"No,  I  mean  the  boy." 

"Oh,  the  boy.  Yes,  he  went.  The'  wan't  nothin'  else 
for  him  to  do.  He  went  on  a  long  cruise  'nd  was  gone  more  'n 
a  year.  When  he  come  back,  you  never  see  such  a  change 
in  any  one  in  your  life.  He  looked  bigger  'nd  browner,  'nd 
finer  —  I  saw  his  ma  standin'  waitin'  f'r  him  to  land  — 
his  pa  'd  gone  out  in  the  fishin'  boat  'nd  met  him,  'nd  they 
come  sailin'  up  the  cove  to  their  little  pier  in  the  evenin' 
blush,  'nd  you  'd  ought  to  'a'  seen  his  ma  —  looked  like  all 
the  sunlight  the'  was  'd  got  into  her  face  'nd  eyes,  'ith  a 


48  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

drop  o'  two  o'  rain  mixed  in.  He  took  'er  in  his  arms  'nd 
kissed  her  —  jest  the  puttiest  sight  I  ever  did  see,  'less  I 
might  say  one." 

As  Somers  talked,  the  reins  hung  below  the  dashboard 
in  a  festoon.  He  flapped  them,  now  and  then,  and  clucked 
to  the  horse,  who  gave  no  heed  to  the  admonition,  other  than 
that  indicated  by  a  switch  of  the  tail,  or  the  laying  back  of 
an  ear,  and  jogged  on  the  same  slow,  even  pace,  suggested 
by  the  monotone  of  his  driver's  voice.  Wishing  to  hear  the 
end  of  the  story  of  Heatherby's  boy  before  they  parted, 
Mark  betrayed  no  impatience,  but  simply  asked,  "What 
one?" 

"What  say?" 

"You  said  it  was  the  prettiest  sight  you  ever  saw  but  one, 
and  I  asked,  What  one?" 

"What  one  ?  That  was  when  he  brought  his  wife  home. 
You  see  't  was  this  way.  After  that  time  he  followed  th' 
sea,  's  he  was  born  to  do,  'nd  one  time  they  picked  up  a  boat 
loaded  with  folks  f'm  a  wreck,  'nd  she  was  on  that  boat. 
'T  was  f'm  a  French  line,  'nd  some  say  she  was  French,  'nd 
some  say  she  was  English.  She  might  'a'  been  both  f'r  all 
I  know.  Well,  they  cruised  'round  some,  I  guess,  anyhow 
they  put  some  o'  th'  wrecked  folks  off  on  to  another  ship, 
'nd  some  stayed  by,  —  however  't  was,  the'  was  time  enough 
f'r  him  to  fall  in  love  with  her  all 't  once,  's  boys  will.  The' 
was  a  story  't  she  'd  seen  him  before,  't  she  was  the  girl  't 
pinned  a  rose  on  his  coat  over  in  England,  that  time  our  boys 
tried  to  win  the  cup.  Well,  'f  thatwasso,  'twouldgoto  show 't 
she  was  English,  would  n't  it.  Anyhow,  his  ship  happened 
to  be  bound  f'r  a  French  port,  'nd  her  father  'nd  mother 
was  both  drowned  in  th'  wreck  —  they  was  in  th'  boat  that 


HEATHERBY'S  BOY  49 

capsized  —  so  the'  say  —  'nd  the'  wan't  neither  kith  nor 
kin  o'  hers  left  f'r  him  to  take  her  to,  'nd  so  she  was  bound 
to  go  to  a  little  village  in  France  where  they  'd  been  living  — 
well,  that  would  go  to  show  't  she  was  French  now,  too. 
However,  that  ain't  neither  here  nor  there,  but  this  much  I 
was  told,  square,  'nd  I  guess  it  was  so.  Ye  see,  how  I  come 
to  hear  it  all,  the  stewardess  of  his  ship,  she  got  tired  o' 
sailin',  'nd  kind  o'  off  her  feed  some,  'nd  she  stayed  one  whole 
winter  't  our  house  —  she  had  her  board  cheap  that  winter, 
too  —  she  said  this  girl  sot  there  gaz'n'  off  on  the  sea,  lookin' 
more  like  a  spirit  'n  she  did  like  a  human.  She  never  shed 
a  tear,  nor  took  on  like  some,  but  just  sot  there  lookin' 
like  her  soul  'd  go  out  o'  her  eyes  after  somp'n  she  see  'nd 
no  one  else,  'nd  so  forlorn,  'ith  nobody  to  look  to.  The  folks 
she  was  took  on  with  was  all  rough  sailor  men,  'nd  one  Irish 
woman  f 'm  the  steerage  —  rest  was  all  on  the  other  boat. 
Ye  see,  she  was  a  brave  little  thing,  the  men  said,  'nd  she 
just  pushed  her  ma  and  pa  on  ahead  o'  her  into  th'  first 
boat,  'nd  then  the'  wan't  room  f'r  her,  so  she  was  put  in  thj 
other  one,  'nd  that  separated  them.  So  't  come,  't  when 
she  see  the  other  boat  capsize,  't  she  thought  she  'd  killed 
them.  Land  sakes  !  She  done  the  best  she  could.  She 
had  n't  a  thing  on  earth  but  the  clo's  she  had  on,  'nd  they 
was  all  torn  'nd  draggled  in  sea  water  'nd  tar.  She  never 
seemed  to  care  how  she  looked,  just  sot  there  'ith  her  hands 
in  her  lap  'nd  her  eyes  on  th'  sea." 

They  were  passing  the  Drew  homestead,  and  the  invalid 
was  seated  in  her  chair  on  the  piazza.  Within,  some  one 
was  singing  a  slumber  song  of  Schumann's,  and  playing  a 
perfect  accompaniment. 

"Who  is  that  playing?"  asked  Mark. 


So  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

"That  must  be  'Liz'beth.  The'  's  nobody  here  c'n  play 
'nd  sing  's  she  can.  Well,  I  calc'late  she  'd  ought  to.  She  's 
been  over  in  Europe,  they  say,  'nd  took  lessons  o'  th'  best. 
They  're  proud  folks,  those  Drews  —  she  is,  at  any  rate. 
Now  we  Ve  tried  to  get  her  to  teach  Jane,  'nd  you  suppose 
she  'd  do  it  ?  Not  much  !  'nd  there  she  '11  take  Joy  Heath- 
erby  in  hand,  'nd  teach  her  f'r  nothin'.  Well,  let  her  do  's 
she 's  a  mind  to.  S'phi  's  got  a  teacher  f'r  Jane  now  't 
c'n  play  on  the  piano  like  a  steam  engine.  We  don't  need 
to  be  behold'n  to  her  any."  Somers  gave  a  cluck  to  the 
horse,  and  a  more  decided  flap  to  the  reins,  and  for  a  moment 
they  took  a  livelier  pace.  Mark  hastened  to  turn  him  back 
to  his  unfinished  tale. 

"You  were  talking  about  the  boy,"  he  said. 

"Heatherby's  boy  ?  Yes.  Well,  so  't  was.  He  c'd  make 
anybody  do  whatever  he  wanted  'em  to.  It  was  his  way. 
He'd  look  at  'em  'nd  talk  quiet,  'nd  kind  o'  draw  'em. 
When  he  'd  look  ye  right  in  the  eye,  why,  then  ye  'd  feel 
either  like  gitt'n'  down  'nd  crawlin'  off,  'r  else  ye  'd  have  to 
go  his  way.  'T  was  what  I  call  a  drawin'  kind  o'  way.  Well, 
he  stood  it 's  long  's  he  could,  'nd  then  he  broke  through  that 
kind  o'  wall  o'  stillness  she  'd  set  up  around  her.  He  woke 
her  up.  Once  she  said  to  him, '  I  can't  talk  to  you.  I  feel 's 
if  I  were  dead.'  He  just  stooped  down,  'nd  she  looked  in 
his  eyes  —  she  had  to  —  'nd  then  he  lifted  her  up,  'nd  pulled 
her  hand  through  his  arm.  '  You  must  n't  sit  this  way  'r  you 
will  be,'  he  said,  'walk  up  'nd  down  'ith  me  a  little.  It 's  so 
calm  't  '11  do  ye  good,'  'nd  she  did.  Then  she  begged  him 
not  to  try  to  save  her  —  said  she  wished  't  she  was  dead, 
but  he  kep'  on  walkin'  and  talkin'  to  her  in  that  low,  quiet 
way  o'  his ;  'nd  by  'm  by  he  brought  her  back,  'nd  set  beside 


HEATHERBY'S  BOY  51 

her,  'nd  after  that  he  never  left  her  side  when  she  was  there. 
Well,  he  drew  her  on  to  talk,  'nd  found  out  all  about  her. 
'T  seems  her  pa  'd  been  sick,  and  they  'd  lived  in  the  south 
o'  France  f'r  his  health,  till  the  doctor  said  't  he  'd  got  to  die; 
so  they  was  goin'  back  to  England,  'nd  everything  'd  been 
sold  'nd  turned  into  money  but  her  pa's  books,  'nd  her  ma 
would  n't  sell  them  —  'nd  could  n't,  if  she  would,  more  'n 
likely.  They  Ve  got  them  books  now  over  to  Heatherby's. 
I  see  'em  once  when  I  was  doin'  a  job  o'  carpenterin'  in 
a  great  closet  top  o'  th'  stairs. 

"So  't  seems  't  he  comforted  her  up  some,  'nd  promised 
he  'd  do  anything  she  wanted,  'nd  she  wanted  to  go  back  to 
that  place,  'nd  get  them  books,  'nd  then  go  to  England,  'nd 
teach  French  for  a  livin'.  It  wan't  very  far  f'm  where 
he  was  goin',  so  when  they  got  into  port,  he  took  th'  stew- 
ardess 'long,  'nd  they  went  there  'nd  stayed  a  spell,  —  some 
kind  o'  name  she  told  S'phi  —  I  forget  what  —  'nd  he  give 
the  woman  some  money,  'nd  sent  her  out  with  the  girl, 
to  get  her  some  new  clo'es. 

"She  said  the  girl  tried  to  get  him  to  take  a  locket  she  had 
tied  to  a  string  'bout  her  neck,  't  had  her  ma's  picture  in, 
'nd  was  made  o'  gold,  'nd  set  with  diamonds,  'nd  a  ring  on 
the  same  string  't  her  ma  'd  put  there,  sayin'  't  they  might 
get  parted,  'nd  it  'ud  be  same 's  money  to  her,  but 
Land  sakes  !  He  would  n't  touch  them  things,  —  said  she 
might  pay  him  back  sometime,  though,  so 't  she  'd  feel  right. 
Well,  they  went,  'nd  she  come  back  dressed  all  in  black,  'nd 
he  looked  at  her  'nd  did  n't  seem  satisfied.  Then  he  took 
her  out  into  th'  flower  garden  o'  th'  house  they  was  stoppin' 
at,  'nd  walked  round  with  her  a  spell,  amongst  the  flower 
bushes,  'nd  he  looked  in  her  face,  'nd  she  looked  down,  'nd 


52  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

he  kep'  on  talkin',  till  by  'm  by  she  looked  up  in  his  eyes. 
The  woman  said  she  was  peekin'  through  the  blinds  o'  th' 
girl's  window.  For  the  life  of  her  she  said  she  could  n't 
help  it,  'nd  she  see  him.  He  kissed  her,  right  there  on  th' 
spot,  'nd  the  girl  put  both  hands  over  her  face,  'nd  he  took 
'em  down,  'nd  then  they  walked  on  a  spell.  By  'm  by  they 
come  in,  'nd  he  went  into  th'  parlor,  'nd  she  came  upstairs 
where  the  stewardess  was  —  her  name  was  Jones,  Hannah 
Jones — 'nd  she  says,  'I  think  I'll  lie  down  awhile,  Mrs. 
Jones,  I  —  I  'm  tired,'  'nd  she  did. 

"Pretty  soon  Mrs.  Jones,  she  see  her  shoulders  shakin', 
'nd  she  knew  she  was  cryin'.  First  time  she  seen  her  cry 
a  tear,  but  she  knew 't  would  do  her  good,  so  she  went  out  'nd 
walked  in  th'  flower  garden  a  spell  herself  —  she  could  n't 
go  in  the  parlor  where  he  was,  pacin'  up  'nd  down  there  like 
a  lion  in  a  circus  cage.  When  she  went  back  upstairs  the 
girl  was  standin'  at  th'  window,  'nd  her  eyes  was  shinin' 
'nd  her  cheeks  was  red,  'nd  she  went  to  th'  glass  'nd  began 
brushin'  her  hair.  It  was  dark  hair  'nd  hung  most  to  the 
floor,  so  long  she  had  to  ketch  it  by  th'  middle  'nd  brush 
out  the  end,  'nd  then  brush  out  th'  top  some  way.  That  was 
the  first  time  Mrs.  Jones  see  her  look  in  th'  glass,  too.  Well, 
that  night  she  never  went  down  where  he  was  —  had  her 
supper  sent  up.  He  stayed  in  the  little  parlor  all  alone,  'nd 
when  Mrs.  Jones  came  down  he  sot  by  th'  table  'ith  his 
head  bowed  in  his  arms,  'nd  he  looked  up  'nd  he  says : 
1  How  is  she  ? '  'nd  she  says,  '  She  's  been  cryin'  some,  but 
that 's  just  what  she  needs,'  'nd  he  says  somethin'  under  his 
breath,  'nd  began  walkin'  the  floor  again.  Long  after  they 
got  to  bed  they  c'ld  hear  him  walkin'  up  'nd  down,  up  'nd 
down,  but  the  girl  didn't  say  nothin'. 


HEATHERBY'S  BOY  53 

"Next  mornin',  when  she  was  brushing  her  long  hair  'gain, 
she  says,  'D'  you  think  't  would  be  very  bad  'f  I  was  to  wear 
all  white  'stead  o'  all  black  ?  Mr.  Heatherby  wants  me  to,' 
'nd  Mrs.  Jones  says,  'Why,  everybody  does  his  way,  'nd 
I  guess  you  '11  come  to  it.  Anyhow,  white 's  a  sort  o' 
mournin'  —  't  ain't  so  depressin'  on  a  young  sperit.  I  guess 
the  cap'n  's  all  right.  He  gen'rally  is.' 

"  Well,  when  they  went  down  to  breakfast,  Mrs.  Jones,  she 
stayed  back  a  lettle  's  if  she  'd  gone  f'r  somethin',  but  not 
too  far  to  hear,  'nd  he  says,  very  low,  'I  took  advantage  of 
you.  I  could  n't  help  it  —  God  forgive  me.  Will  you  ? 
Will  you  ? '  'nd  the  girl  said  somethin'  so  soft  she  could  n't 
hear,  but  't  was  all  right  she  guessed,  f'r  when  she  came  in 
there  they  sot  'ith  the  breakfast  table  between  'em,  'nd  a 
place  f'r  her  at  the  end,  'nd  the  girl  was  lookin'  at  her  plate, 
'nd  he  kep'  lookin'  at  her  's  if  he  could  n't  ever  quit,  'nd 
she  never  lifted  her  eyes  but  once,  'nd  then  'twas  to  look 
square  into  his,  'nd  down  again.  Well,  then  she  was  goin' 
to  see  some  o'  th'  folks  o'  th'  village  she  used  to  know,  'nd 
he  said  't  he  'd  go  with  her.  So  they  walked  out,  she  all  in 
black,  'nd  he  lookin'  at  her  's  if  he  never  see  a  girl  before. 
She  picked  a  rose  'nd  a  bud  from  a  flower  bush  's  they 
walked  down  the  path,  'nd  when  they  come  back  'twas 
evenin',  'nd  of  all  things  in  the  world  !  Mrs.  Jones  said  't 
took  her  breath  away.  He  'd  had  his  way,  f'r  sure.  She 
was  dressed  all  in  white  —  white  dress,  'nd  white  shawl  — 
silk  one  —  'nd  she  had  th'  rose  in  her  dress,  'nd  he  had  the 
bud  in  his  coat  buttonhole,  'nd  he  says,  '  Mrs.  Jones,  I  've 
brought  this  young  lady  back  again.  She's  my  wife. 
We  've  been  married  in  the  church,  'nd  some  o'  her  good 
friends  stood  as  witnesses.' 


54  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

"Mrs.  Jones  said,  frail  she  'd  seen  'nd  heard  'nd  was  in 
a  sort  prepared  f'r  it,  you  could  ha'  knocked  her  down  with 
a  feather.  But  'twas  heartsome  to  see  'em  after  that. 
'Twas  his  kind  o'  drawin'  way. 

"Well,  then,  they  got  her  pa's  books  'nd  sent  'em  to  the 
ship,  'nd  then  he  took  her  to  England,  to  see  her  pa's  folks. 
Well,  that  'ud  go  to  show  't  she  was  English,  would  n't  it  ? 
More  'n  likely  she  was.  Then  he  fetched  her  here.  'T  was 
then,  's  I  say,  the  purtiest  sight  I  ever  did  see,  when  he 
handed  her  over  to  his  ma,  'nd  she  took  her  in  her  arms  'nd 
kissed  her,  'nd  then  drawed  off  'nd  looked  at  her,  'nd  he  'nd 
his  pa  watchin'  'em,  'nd  then  his  pa  says,  'Why,  ma,  ain't  I 
goin'  to  be  'lowed  to  kiss  her,  too  ? '  'nd  she  turned  'nd  put 
up  her  two  arms,  'nd  drawed  his  head  down  'nd  kissed  him 
on  the  cheek. 

"I  see  that  much,  'nd  then  I  went  off  down  to  th'  landin'. 
I  was  there  to  haul  the  things  f'm  the  boat.  Heatherby, 
he  always  used  to  go  out  to  meet  his  boy  some'eres,  'nd 
that  was  the  way  he  always  come  home,  sailin'  up  the  cove 
to  their  little  pier  in  his  father's  fishin'  boat. 

"Well,  that  was  a  good  spell  ago.  Let 's  see,  it  must  ha' 
been  twenty  year  —  but  I  never  forget.  I  never  forget  a 
courtin'  anyway,  once  't  I  hear  of  it." 

"And  now  they  are  both  gone?"  said  Mark. 

"Yes,  both  gone.  But  they  was  the  happiest,  lovin'est 
couple  you  ever  did  see,  'nd  purty  to  look  at,  too.  Le's  see. 
Two  'nd  one 's  three,  'nd  one  —  yes,  't  was  four  year  ago. 
Remember  the'  was  a  spell  o'  bad  weather  tore  up  th' 
shippin'  early  in  the  fall  ?  Well,  that  time  the  sea  took  them 
both.  The  old  lady  like  to  died  over  it  f'r  a  spell,  'nd  then 
she  picked  up  again,  but  the'  do  say  she  ain't  been  quite  right 


HEATHERBY'S   BOY  55 

in  her  head  since,  though  I  never  see  anything  out  o'  the  way. 
Now  they  just  live  f 'r  that  girl.  Mis'  Heatherby  never  lets 
her  out  o'  her  sight,  hardly  —  never  sent  her  to  school,  f 'r 
fear  somethin'  'd  happen  to  her.  Jane  says  't  they  're 
bringin'  her  up  a  perfect  fool.  They  do  say  't  her  ma,  the 
girl  't  Heatherby's  boy  fished  out  o'  the  sea  'nd  married, 
was  real  smart,  'nd  taught  the  girl  herself.  Jane  says  't 
she  learned  that  child  to  talk  French  'nd  read  Latin,  too. 
Land  sakes !  Whatever  c'n  a  poor  girl  do  with  them 
things?  She  never  learnt  her  any  'rithmetic  to  speak  of, 
'nd  sence  she  lost  her  ma,  Jane  says  't  she  don't  believe  that 
child  's  learnt  one  single  thing,  'cept  what  she  picks  up  down 
to  'Liz'beth's.  Well,  you  get  down  here.  I  turn  this  way. 
You  '11  find  Heatherby's  down  the  road  a  piece,  just  hid  by 
them  trees." 


CHAPTER  IV 

"ICI  NOUS   SOMMES  HEUREUX" 

"  Yea,  but,"  quoth  she,  "  the  perill  of  this  place 
I  better  wot  than  you  :    Though  nowe  too  late 
To  wish  you  backe  returne  with  foul  disgrace, 
Yet  wisdome  warnes,  whilest  foot  is  in  the  gate, 
To  stay  the  steppe,  ere  forced  to  retrate. 
This  is  the  Wandering  Wood,  this  Errours  Den, 
A  monster  vile,  whom  God  and  man  does  hate  : 
Therefore  I  read,  beware." 

—  The  Faerie  Queene. 

MARK  THORN  walked  on  musing.  He  thought  of  Joyful's 
father  in  his  love-making,  and  of  the  young  wife,  and  then 
of  the  little  child,  born  in  the  cottage  and  growing  up  in 
that  lonely  spot,  within  sound  of  the  sea.  He  no  longer 
wondered  at  the  charm  of  the  girl,  nor  at  the  frank,  un- 
shrinking gaze  that  met  his  with  a  sort  of  other-worldliness 
in  it  —  at  least  with  none  of  this  worldliness  to  infuse  therein 
even  a  hint  of  self-consciousness.  Arriving  at  the  house,  he 
saw  no  one,  but  heard  her  singing,  and  followed  the  sound 
of  her  voice.  There  she  stood,  the  dasher  of  the  churn 
lifted  in  one  hand,  peering  into  the  depths  of  the  deep  stone 
jar.  She  looked  up  and  smiled.  Having  seen  him  before, 
that  morning,  a  greeting  seemed  to  her  unnecessary. 

"  Grandfather  's  down  at  the  pier.  He  's  waiting  for  you, 
I  think,"  she  said. 

"Has  the  butter  come?"  Mark  was  loth  to  go.  "I 
used  to  churn  for  mother.  Let  me  see  if  I  can  do  it  now." 

56 


"ICI  NOUS  SOMMES  HEUREUX"  57 

"No,  no.  You  '11  spoil  it,  and  spatter  your  clothes,  too." 
She  deftly  slipped  the  handle  of  the  dasher  from  the  cover, 
from  which  she  removed  the  cream  with  her  finger,  and  then 
began  whirling  the  dasher  about  the  inside  of  the  churn. 

"What  do  you  do  that  for?"  he  asked. 

"I'm  gathering  it.     See?" 

"How  good  it  smells  !"  He  looked  in  at  the  golden  ball 
floating  in  the  white  milk,  and  then  glanced  down  the  path. 
"I  hope  I  have  n't  kept  your  grandfather  waiting  too  long." 

"No  —  he  has  to  bring  up  the  boat  anyway.  If  you 
can  wait  another  minute,  I  '11  go  down  with  you  and  take 
him  a  pitcher  of  buttermilk.  Do  you  like  it?" 

"I  do,  indeed." 

"Look  in  now.     See  how  nice  and  hard  the  butter  is." 

Obediently  he  looked  in,  then  leaned  against  the  door 
post,  and  watched  her  swift  movements  until  she  had  the 
golden  ball  drained,  and  rinsed,  and  carried  away.  Then 
he  held  the  pitcher  while  she  filled  it,  dipping  the  milk,  in 
which  tiny  yellow  bits  were  still  floating,  with  an  earthen 
cup.  "Now!"  she  said,  snatching  her  sunbonnet,  and 
they  started  on  the  path  that  meandered  down  to  the 
curved  shore  line. 

"Did  you  make  the  butter  we  had  this  morning?  Do 
you  always  make  it?  It  was  fine." 

"Yes,  I  made  that.  Sometimes  I  make  it,  and  sometimes 
grandmother  does.  She  is  n't  feeling  well  to-day.  She 
never  does  when  grandfather  goes  out  with  his  boat  — 
but  then  —  I  think  he  'd  die  if  he  could  n't  go  off  on  a  sail 
now  and  then."  She  paused,  and  looked  wistfully  in  his 
face.  "You  —  you  '11  not  be  away  very  long,  will  you  ?" 

"Oh,  no,  no.    I  only  wish  to  explore  the  coast  a  little. 


58  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

We  won't  be  gone  more  than  three  hours  at  the  most  — 
not  so  long,  if  you  don't  wish  it." 

"It 's  grandmother  —  I  would  go  myself  for  that  matter, 
but  she  —  she  worries  so  while  he's  out." 

"I'll  bear  it  in  mind,"  said  Mark,  gently. 

The  cottage  stood  on  a  decided  rise  of  ground,  and  the 
path  led  away  from  the  road  by  which  Mark  came,  through 
a  green  pasture  lot.  A  field  of  low  blueberry  bushes  on 
one  side  skirted  the  woods,  which  stretched  away  inland, 
not  dense  as  in  midsummer,  but  delicately  clothed  in  young 
spring  green.  The  slope  of  the  land  was  gradual  until  it 
terminated  in  a  high  bluff-like  terrace,  down  which  a  steep 
path  led  them,  with  many  crooks  and  turns,  to  the  tide- 
washed  sands.  Here  Joyful  called  two  undulating  notes, 
sweet  and  strong,  as  if  blown  upon  a  flute,  and  her  grand- 
father's shout  came  up  to  them  from  the  boat,  which  swung 
at  the  far  end  of  the  pier  with  all  sails  set,  for  the  breeze 
was  light.  As  they  started  down  the  bluff,  Mark  turned, 
but  Joyful  darted  past  him  ere  he  could  give  her  his  hand, 
and  was  out  on  the  sands,  waving  her  glasses  to  her  grand- 
father, before  he  was  halfway  down.  "Fresh  buttermilk, 
grand-daddy,"  she  cried,  and  the  old  man  stepped  out  on 
the  pier. 

"So.  She  kept  you  waiting  for  grand-daddy's  butter- 
milk, did  she?"  he  said,  as  Mark  came  up  with  the  pitcher. 
Then  they  sat  on  the  pier  together  and  drank  it,  while 
Joyful  stood  watching  the  waves  creep  up  the  sands  and 
back  again. 

"Isn't  it  pretty  here?"  she  said,  at  last.  "See  them 
curl  and  gather  themselves  together,  and  then  slide  back. 
They  are  never  tired." 


"ICI  NOUS  SOMMES  HEUREUX"  59 

"Are  you  ever?"  asked  Mark,  looking  up  at  her. 

She  smiled  and  shook  her  head,  but  kept  her  eyes  fixed 
on  the  sea,  the  long,  shining  line  of  which  could  be  seen 
outside  their  protected  little  haven.  "How  far  it  is,"  she 
said,  "over  there,  beyond  that  line.  You  have  been 
there  in  the  outside.  It  seemed  so  different,  as  I  heard  you 
talking  last  night,  from  what  I  always  used  to  imagine." 

"What  did  you  imagine?"  said  Mark. 

"Oh,  everything.  I  used  to  think  this  little  spot  was 
the  only  safe  place  in  all  the  world.  That  was  because, 
when  I  used  to  beg  to  go  away  with  father,  mother  used  to 
say,  when  we  stood  here  and  watched  the  boat  sailing  off, 
and  off,  until  it  was  only  a  speck  on  that  line  —  'Non,  non, 
ma  petite  —  ici  nous  sommes  heureux.  Tout  y  est  bon, 
et  on  respire  le  bonheur.  Le  Bon  Dieu  nous  a  conduit  ici, 
et  a  cette  meme  place  t'  a  donnee  a  nous.  Done  aime-le 
bien,  et  prie-le  de  nous  ramener  bientot  Papa.' '  She  spoke 
with  an  impetuous  rush  of  words,  and  as  suddenly  paused. 

"Your  mother  was  certainly  right;  it  is  one  of  the  safe 
places  of  the  world.  What  else  did  you  use  to  imagine  ?" 

"  Monsters  of  the  deep.  I  believed  in  them.  Sometimes 
early,  when  the  rest  were  asleep,  I  would  run  down  to  the 
edge  of  the  hill  there,  and  watch  the  clouds  piled  up  on  the 
far-away  edge  where  the  sky  comes  down  to  the  sea,  for  I 
thought  they  were  the  tangled-up  heads  and  tails  of  the 
monsters,  and  that  my  father  was  out  there  fighting  them. 
When  the  sun  came  up  and  turned  them  all  into  gold  and 
they  would  float  away,  then  I  thought  my  father  had 
conquered ;  but  when  it  would  be  dark  and  they  would  seem 
to  go  down  into  the  sea,  I  thought  they  had  gone  to  hatch 
some  more.  But  then  I  was  a  child.  We  never  think  such 


60  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

things  nowadays  —  do  we,  grand-daddy  ?  I  suppose  I 
should  n't  tell  of  them  now,  either,  for  now  I  am  grown  a 
woman,  and  must  'put  away  childish  things. ' '  She  sighed 
then,  and  turning,  looked  back  at  the  cottage. 

"Who  ever  told  ye  such  a  thing  as  that,  child  ?"  said  the 
old  man,  wiping  his  mouth,  and  setting  his  glass  on  the  pier 
with  a  rap. 

"Grandmother,  and  so  did  Elizabeth  yesterday.  My 
chin  comes  up  to  her  shoulder  now,  and  she  's  my  'Ladye 
Faire'  and  knows  what's  right." 

Her  grandfather  looked  dubiously  straight  before  him. 
"I  guess  you  're  going  to  be  my  little  girl 's  long  's  you  live, 
if  ye'r  chin  comes  up  to  the  moon,"  he  said. 

"Yes,  grand-daddy,  I  will  —  always."  She  clasped 
her  two  hands  about  his  face,  and  tipped  his  head  back 
until  she  could  look  into  his  eyes,  and  then  kissed  his  seamed 
forehead.  Mark  stood  looking  at  the  two  as  she  bent  over 
the  kindly  old  face,  with  the  loving  light  in  her  eyes,  and 
a  new  sensation  awoke  within  him.  It  was  sweet  to  feel, 
and  pleasant  to  remember. 

Joyful  released  her  grandfather,  and  turned  toward  Mark 
suddenly.  "Do  you  know  how  to  manage  a  boat,  too?" 
she  asked. 

"One  like  this  I  do.     I  am  used  to  sailing." 

"Then  you  must  take  good  care  of  my  grandfather," 
she  said,  laughing.  "He  is  all  the  playmate  I  have." 

The  old  man  rose  with  a  laugh,  straightened  his  gaunt 
figure,  and  swung  out  his  long  arms.  Then  he  began 
hauling  on  the  ropes  that  held  the  craft  to  the  pier,  and 
stepped  in.  "Guess  we'd  better  start,"  he  said. 

"All    right,"    said    Mark.     "Good-bye,    Miss—"    He 


"ICI  NOUS  SOMMES  HEUREUX"  61 

was  going  to  say  Miss  Heatherby,  but  a  glance  at  her 
grandfather's  face  made  him  pause.  "Good-bye,  Miss 
Joyful.  Thank  you  for  the  good  buttermilk.  I  may  not 
see  you  again  for  some  time,  for  I  'm  to  be  put  off  on  the 
other  side  of  the  point." 

"Good-bye,"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice,  as  if  her  thoughts 
were  elsewhere.  She  took  his  offered  hand,  and  her  fingers 
closed  warmly  over  his,  with  a  touch  he  liked. 

"I  wish  you  were  going,  too,"  he  said. 

"Yes,  yes,  grand-daddy,  let  me  go,  too."  She  held  out 
her  arms  to  him  impulsively.  "Oh,  grand-daddy,  come." 

"This  boat's  Mr.  Thorn's  for  the  rest  of  the  day,"  said 
the  old  man  hesitatingly,  glancing  at  the  sky. 

"Of  course,  I  forgot,"  she  stooped  to  pick  up  the  glasses. 

"No,  no.  It  is  yours,  Miss  Joyful.  Please  come.  It 
was  my  thought  first,  you  know." 

But  she  stood  hesitating,  her  shining  eyes  on  her  grand- 
father. Her  bonnet  hung  by  the  strings  across  her  white 
throat,  and  the  breeze  tossed  her  brown  hair  across  her 
face.  Thorn  waited  with  hand  extended  to  help  her  in. 
"Come,  child,  come.  We'll  both  enjoy  the  sail  better  for 
havin'  ye  along,"  said  the  old  man  at  last. 

"Then  we  '11  put  these  in  the  boat,  please."  She  handed 
the  pitcher  and  glasses  to  Mark,  who  passed  them  on. 
"If  grandmother  should  come  down  and  find  them  here, 
she  'd  think  I  'd  fallen  in,  and  be  frightened  to  death." 

Her  grandfather  cast  another  look  at  the  sky.  "I 
d'  know,"  he  said,  "  's  we  shall  get  anywhere  now,  the  wind 's 
died  down  so." 

"I'm  happy  sitting  here  and  looking  at  the  sea  and 
shore,  if  the  boat  does  n't  move,"  said  Mark,  settling  himself 


62  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

in  a  corner,  and  looking  past  Joyful's  smiling  face  at  the 
silver  line  of  the  open  sea. 

"Oh,  there  is  enough  wind  to  get  outo'  the  cove;  all  is, 
I  don't  want  to  get  off  'nd  have  it  drop  'nd  keep  us  out  so 
long 's  to  frighten  Mar  thy." 

"You  could  put  me  out  in  the  small  boat,  and  I  could  row 
back  and  tell  her  you  were  all  right,"  said  Joyful. 

Her  grandfather  was  fetching  the  craft  around,  and  they 
drew  away  from  the  pier,  moving  so  smoothly  over  the 
surface  of  the  bay  that  they  seemed  to  be  standing  still, 
while  the  woods  and  shore  line  crept  backwards.  Mark 
sat  facing  Joyful,  while  she,  with  her  hands  clasped  behind 
her  head,  leaned  against  a  mast,  and  gazed  with  dreamy 
eyes  at  the  slowly  fading  shore. 

"I  suppose  growing  old  is  like  that,"  she  said,  at  last. 

"Like  what?"  asked  Mark,  in  some  surprise. 

"Why,  you  see  the  shore  seems  to  be  moving,  and  going 
away,  and  fading  out,  and  that  is  the  way  with  things  we 
do,  or  play  when  we  are  little.  First  they  are  clear  and 
distinct,  and  all  around  us,  just  as  the  shore  was  a  few 
minutes  ago ;  and  then  they  begin  to  go  back,  farther 
and  farther,  and  new  days  come,  so  still,  one  after  another, 
that  we  think  we  are  standing  still,  and  the  things  we  did 
and  thought  are  going  away  behind  us,  and  all  becoming  in 
a  sort  of  mist ;  while  really  it  is  we  who  are  running  from 
them,  and  finding  new  things  all  the  time." 

The  old  man  was  at  the  far  end  of  the  boat  examining 
some  nets,  unheeding  the  talk.  Mark  was  pleased.  This 
young  girl,  with  mind  as  yet  untrammeled  by  any  con- 
ventional lines  of  modern  thought  or  life  was  becoming 
more  and  more  interesting  to  him.  He  decided  to  make 


"ICI  NOUS  SOMMES  HEUREUX"  63 

a  sketch  of  her  pose  as  she  sat  there  with  smiling,  parted 
lips,  and  fumbled  about  for  his  notebook  and  pencil,  as  he 
said,  "If  that  were  all  there  is  to  growing  old,  it  wouldn't 
be  such  a  very  unpleasant  thing,  would  it?" 

"Is  it?"  she  said  softly. 

Mark  laughed,  and  scratched  away  with  his  pencil. 
"You  haven't  grown  old  long  enough  yet  to  know,  so  I 
sha'  n't  tell  you.  You  will  find  out  for  yourself." 

"Have  you?"  she  asked. 

"Well,  hardly,  yet." 

"Then  how  could  you  tell  me?" 

"Ah,  but  I  have  lived  longer  than  you,  and  I  have  been 
about  the  world  and  have  observed."  Her  expression 
changed  tantalizingly  from  moment  to  moment.  Now 
she  leaned  forward,  looking  inquiringly  in  his  face,  and  he 
turned  over  a  leaf,  leaving  the  first  pose  unfinished.  "I 
will  go  back  to  it  again,  for  she  will  be  sure  to  take  it.  I 
will  make  her,  if  she  does  not,"  he  thought. 

"Of  course  I  know  that.  It  was  very  interesting,  your 
talk  last  evening.  I  wish  you  would  talk  more.  Are  you 
making  a  picture  now?"  she  glanced  behind  her.  "There 
is  nothing  to  make  there.  Do  you  make  them  out  of  your 
mind?  May  I  see  it?" 

"I  am  only  making  marks  now  —  taking  notes.  Yes, 
sometimes  I  make  pictures  out  of  my  mind,  but  first  I 
must  make  them  in  my  mind.  No,  I  can't  let  you  see 
this  for  it  isn't  made  yet.  Sometime,  when  I  have  my 
materials  with  me,  I  will  make  you  a  picture  all  your  own, 
and  let  you  watch  me  do  it." 

Her  eyes  shone  with  pleasure.  "That  would  be  good  of 
you,  to  let  me  see  you  make  one,  but  I  should  not  want  you 


64  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

to  give  it  to  me.    Won't  you  talk  now,  as  you  did  last  night, 
about,  —  oh,   about  all   the  world?" 

"Oh,  that 's  too  big  a  subject  for  so  small  a  boat,  and  so 
small  a  young  lady.  It  would  swamp  us." 

"I  shall  ask  you  questions,  as  grandfather  did.  That's 
the  way  to  make  you  talk." 

"Very  well,  fire  away,  only  don't  let  them  hit  too  hard." 

She  was  silent  a  moment.  Suddenly,  with  a  low  laugh 
she  asked,  "Did  you  ever  fight  any  monsters  of  the  deep? 
We  are  going  into  the  outside  now.  They  are  all  out  here." 
She  glanced  behind  her  again,  with  a  little  shiver. 

"Yes  —  at  least  —  I  have  tried  to  fight  some  of  them," 
said  Mark,  gravely,  working  rapidly  on. 

She  regarded  him  earnestly.  "Of  course,  you  know  I 
don't  really  believe  all  that,  even  if  I  have  never  been  away 
from  our  little  cove.  I  know  what  they  mean." 

"What  do  they  mean?    Tell  me." 

She  laughed  again.  "Oh,  if  you've  fought  them,  you 
know  what  they  mean." 

"Ah,  yes.  But  they  may  mean  one  thing  to  me  and 
another  to  you.  So  tell  me  what  they  mean  to  you." 

She  looked  down  and  was  silent  a  moment.  "Why," 
she  said  at  last,  "as  I  have  never  been  out  in  the  world,  I 
have  to  imagine  them,  as  I  used  to  imagine  in  the  first  place. 
When  I  was  very  little  I  thought  they  were  really  and  truly 
dragons  and  monsters  such  as  the  'Gentle  Knight'  in  the 
'Faerie  Queene'  went  out  to  fight;  but  then  I  came  to 
think  afterwards  that  they  meant  the  trials  and  temptations 
and  the  despondency  that  one  has  to  fight  away  before  one 
can  ever  be  anything.  That's  what  they  mean  to  me 
now." 


"ICI  NOUS  SOMMES  HEUREUX"  65 

"  I  guess  they  mean  very  much  the  same  thing  to  both  of 
us,  Miss  Joyful.  I  have  n't  fought  many  of  the  first,  but  I 
have  of  the  last." 

"Why?"  she  asked  gravely. 

"Why?  I  can  hardly  tell  you.  It  was  because  I  came 
near  losing  my  ideals.  I  had  to  fight  to  keep  them.  When 
a  man,  especially  an  artist,  loses  his  ideals  he  loses  his  own 
soul.  He  's  worth  nothing  after  that." 

She  leaned  back,  greatly  to  his  satisfaction,  with  her  hands 
clasped  behind  her  head  as  before  and  he  turned  again  to 
the  unfinished  pose.  Presently  she  said  in  a  low  voice,  as 
if  thinking  audibly,  "By  ideals  do  you  mean  the  pictures 
you  make  in  your  mind,  the  way  Michael  Angelo  made  the 
ceiling  of  the  Sistine  Chapel  ?  I  suppose  he  made  them  in 
his  mind  first,  did  n't  he  ?  Or  do  you  mean  something  — 
something  more  ?  " 

"I  mean  more  —  much  more,  Miss  Joyful.  I  can  scarcely 
tell  you  all  I  mean.  It  is  something  like  an  aspiration  — 
where  one  gets  one's  inspiration  from  above  one's  self.  If 
an  artist  loses  his  ideals  he  cannot  make  pictures  in  his 
mind  any  more.  The  power  goes  from  him.  It 's  like  — 
how  can  I  tell  you  ?  —  a  continual  reaching  up  — 

"I  think  I  understand."  She  turned  toward  him  with 
suddenly  illumined  face.  "Ideals  are  like  God  close  to 
him.  He  reaches  up  and  there  is  God,  and  just  below  is 
his  own  heart,  and  all  the  world  is  down  underneath  him ; 
but  when  he  loses  his  ideals  his  heart  goes  down,  and  the 
world  gets  above  him,  and  God  is  not  there.  The  monsters 
are  the  things  which  steal  his  ideals.  He  must  fight  them." 

"Ah,  there  you  are  a  wise  little  woman,  Miss  Joyful." 

She  made  a  slight  movement,  as  if  disturbed  in  a  pleasant 


66  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

dream.  "No,  I'm  not  wise.  I've  never  been  to  school. 
I  wish  I  could."  She  glanced  back  at  her  grandfather,  who 
still  sat  working  at  his  nets  in  the  far  end  of  the  boat  watch- 
ing the  sky  and  shifting  a  sail  now  and  then,  and  added  in 
a  low  tone,  "  You  see,  I  can't  leave  them,  and  they  could  n't 
send  me,  anyway." 

"I'm  glad  you've  never  been  to  school."  Mark  spoke 
warmly.  "You  're  far  better  as  you  are.  Who  taught  you 
about  the  Sistine  Chapel,  and  the  things  of  which  we  've 
been  talking?" 

"My  mother,"  she  said  sadly.  "I  can  talk  of  her  to  you 
and  grandfather,  but  never  to  grandmother.  It  makes 
her  ill.  You  '11  never  speak  of  them  to  her,  will  you?" 

"No,  Miss  Joyful,  I  never  will.  But  sometime  you'll 
tell  me  about  them,  won't  you?"  he  said  gently. 

"I  love  to  talk  about  father  and  mother.  I  don't  want 
ever  to  forget  how  they  looked,  and  the  things  they  used  to 
say  to  each  other  and  to  me."  They  were  silent  awhile. 
Suddenly  Joyful  looked  straight  into  his  eyes  with  the  same 
grave  regard  he  had  noticed  the  evening  before,  and  then 
with  a  light  sigh,  turned  her  gaze  on  the  sea,  but  did  not 
speak. 

Mark  felt  that  in  the  maid's  heart  were  sacred  places, 
yet  longed  to  venture  therein.  "What  were  you  thinking 
just  now  ?  Will  you  tell  me  ?  "  he  said  at  last. 

"I  was  thinking  how  far  away  yesterday  seems,  when 
I  was  walking  in  the  lane  and  you  came  and  spoke  to  me. 
One  would  think  now  that  you  'd  always  known  us.  Is 
that  the  way  it  is  in  the  world  ?  Do  people  feel  so  quickly 
as  if  they  had  always  known  each  other,  and  talk  right 
along  about  things  they  care  much  for?" 


"ICI  NOUS  SOMMES  HEUREUX"  67 

"I  think  not,  Miss  Joyful  —  or  very  seldom.  Some 
people  hold  aloof  who  have  known  each  other  for  years,  and 
never  feel  even  so  well  acquainted  as  we  do  now.  I  think 
in  order  to  feel  as  we  do,  people  must  be  kindred  spirits, 
or  have  something  in  common ;  then  time  does  n't  make  so 
much  difference,  and  they  can  talk  together  of  things  they 
care  much  for  without  having  to  wait." 

"But  we  —  we  are  so  far  apart  in  everything.  How 
could  we  be  kindred  spirits,  or  have  anything  in  common, 
unless  —  "  she  hesitated. 

"Unless  what,  were  you  going  to  say?" 

Still  she  paused.  "I'm  afraid  what  I  was  going  to  say 
might  seem  presumption  on  my  part,  so  I  won't  say  it," 
she  said,  at  last. 

"I  don't  believe  it  could  be."  She  was  silent,  and  Mark, 
gifted  with  that  tact  which  is  so  rare  in  a  man,  guessed  she 
feared  she  had  talked  too  freely  with  a  stranger  to  conform 
to  the  conventionalities  of  the  outer  world,  and  took  the 
best  means  of  reassuring  her.  "A  few  times  in  my  life  — 
a  very  few  times  —  this  has  happened  to  me  as  it  has  now, 
when  I  have  felt  immediately  a  common  interest,  a  sense 
of  camaraderie  and  good  fellowship ;  and  in  each  instance 
it  has  resulted  in  a  very  strong  friendship.  So  you  see  how 
pleasant  it  must  be,  as  one  knocks  about  in  the  world,  to 
come  upon  what  I  call  kindred  spirits.  Won't  you  tell  me 
what  you  were  going  to  say  when  you  said  'unless'?" 

"We  have  always  lived  so  far  apart  and  are  so  different 
—  I  was  thinking  how  impossible  it  is  that  we  could  have 
anything  in  common,  as  you  said,  unless,  perhaps,  the  one 
thing  —  that  we  may  both  have  ideals." 

"I  think  that  is  just  it,  Miss  Joyful." 


68  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

Again  she  looked  squarely  in  his  eyes  with  that  clear, 
searching  gaze.  Mark  felt  a  sense  of  satisfaction  in  the 
thought  that,  whatever  his  failings,  he  need  not  turn  away 
from  it.  "Now  you  're  thinking  something  more,"  he  said. 
"Tell  me  again,  won't  you?" 

She  smiled,  and  then  laughed  outright.  "First  we  are 
old,  and  then  we  are  young,  and  so  we  keep  changing.  I 
was  thinking  how  real  those  monsters  of  the  deep  used  to 
be  to  me,  and  then  all  at  once  I  wondered  what  you  would 
have  been  if  you  had  not  fought  them  —  if  you  had  lost  your 
ideals,  or  hadn't  cared.  Would  you  have  been  sailing 
with  us  now  ?  Would  we  have  felt  as  if  we  had  known  you, 
or  would  grandmother  have  asked  you  to  stay  —  and  would 
grand-daddy  have  cared  to  talk  with  you  all  the  evening 
long  ?  Somehow  I  feel  as  if  it  all  would  n't  have  happened, 
and  yesterday  would  seem  only  yesterday  and  not  years  ago, 
and  I  had  grown  up  since  then." 

While  they  talked,  Mark  had  succeeded  in  getting  some 
characteristic  sketches  of  her  in  his  book,  and  was  pleased, 
but  not  satisfied.  He  turned  leaf  after  leaf,  and  still 
scratched  away.  She  gave  no  heed  to  his  occupation,  but 
seemed  wholly  wrapped  in  her  thoughts. 

"Again  you're  right,  Miss  Joyful,  —  perfectly  so.  For 
one  thing,  I  would  n't  have  been  a  disconsolate,  tired  fellow 
tramping  along  the  road  where  I  met  you,  and  —  a  good 
many  things  would  have  been  different,  more  than  I  can 
tell  you." 

"What  would  you  have  been  ?" 

"Ah,  I  don't  like  to  think.  I  *m  afraid  I  'd  have  been  — 
Let's  not  consider  that—  Shall  we?" 

Joyful  looked  off  over  the  sea,  shading  her  eyes  with  her 


"ICI  NOUS  SOMMES  HEUREUX"  69 

hand.  "See  how  far  away  we  are  now.  Our  pier  is  only 
a  little  white  speck  behind  us,  and  grandfather  is  tacking 
toward  the  shore."  Then  she  turned  upon  Mark  like  a 
sudden  breeze.  "Mr.  Thorn,  I  'm  glad  you  did  fight  them. 
I  hope  if  they  come  again  you  '11  fight  more." 

"That  I  will,"  said  Mark,  heartily.  "Your  monsters 
are  very  real  things.  You  'd  never  dream  it  was  for  that 
I  came  to  your  quiet  little  cove  —  that  I  must  fight  battles 
here.  Now,  you  see,  I  Ve  told  you  a  secret,  and  yet  I  never 
saw  you  until  last  evening.  When  I  sat  in  the  peacefulness 
of  your  grandfather's  little  cottage  I  was  fighting  them  by 
putting  everything  sordid  and  mean  away  from  me.  We 
can't  always  do  that,  when  we  're  out  in  the  world,  with 
your  monsters,  Miss  Joyful." 

Then  they  were  silent  for  a  time,  while  she  watched  the  sun- 
light quivering  on  the  water,  and  dreamed.  Mark's  thoughts 
were  full  of  another  face  —  a  face  of  which  he  knew  every  line. 
He  began  a  drawing  of  it  opposite  the  spirituelle  glance  he 
had  just  traced  of  one  of  Joyful's  moods,  and  then,  almost 
petulantly,  drew  his  pencil  many  times  across  it,  obliterating 
the  lines,  and  turning  over  a  leaf,  made  there  a  pretty,  finished 
drawing  of  the  remembered  face. 

He  wondered  what  Louise  would  do  with  this  child  if  she 
could  get  hold  of  her.  "She  would  begin  by  admiring  her 
immensely,"  he  thought,  "and  then  would  try  to  remodel 
her  after  some  mental  pattern  of  her  own,  and  say  she  was 
educating  her.  She  would  take  this  wild  wood  bird,  that 
flies  toward  its  Creator  with  the  morning  light  —  that  rises 
above  the  world  and  soars  in  divine  ether,  and  smooth  down 
its  feathers,  and  clip  its  wings,  and  tie  it  to  her  own  little 
stake  by  a  string  only  so  long  as  her  own  mental  reach.  She 


7o  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

would  fence  her  about  with  a  paling  of  conventional  poles  so 
high  she  could  not  see  over  them,  so  close  she  could  not  see 
through  them,  and  then  she  would  say:  'Now,  little  one, 
don't  flutter  and  beat  your  heart  out  —  if  you  have  a  heart. 
I  'm  going  to  stay  here  and  educate  you  and  feed  you  with 
a  nice  little  preparation  I  've  made  all  myself,  from  most 
wholesome  ingredients  that  I  Ve  gathered  with  great  care 
and  labor.  In  India,  among  the  Brahmins,  and  in  China, 
among  the  Buddhists,  and  in  Turkey,  among  the  Moham- 
medans, and  even  among  the  ancient  Chaldeans  have  I 
searched  for  this.  It  is  more  wholesome  than  the  food  God 
—  if  there  be  a  God  —  gives  his  children ;  so  open  your 
mouth,  little  one.' ' 

"Mr.  Thorn,"  said  Joyful,  waking  from  her  dream,  "are 
you  making  a  funny  picture?" 

Mark  laughed  heartily.  "I  will  let  you  see  this  in  a 
minute,  then  you  can  judge  for  yourself,"  he  said,  and  she 
relapsed  contentedly  into  her  thoughtful  mood. 

"Mr.  Thorn,"  she  said  at  last,  "I  was  thinking  of  what 
you  said  a  moment  ago  about  monsters  being  out  there,  and 
the  peacefulness  in  our  little  cove.  Perhaps  that  was  what 
mother  meant  when  she  used  to  say:  'Ici  nous  sommes 
heureux,  Petite.' ' 

"I  have  no  doubt  of  it." 

"I  suppose  I  will  have  to  go  out  into  it  all,  sometime. 
I  can't  always  have  grandfather  and  live  here,  and  —  even 
if  I  could  -  "  she  stopped,  and  when  Mark  looked  up  there 
were  tears  in  her  eyes. 

"Don't  think  of  it,  Miss  Joyful.  Enjoy  the  peace  and 
happiness  while  you  have  them,  and  we  '11  hope  that,  when 
the  time  comes,  the  great  world  will  deal  gently  with  you." 


"ICI  NOUS  SOMMES  HEUREUX"  71 

"  It  is  n't  that  I  'm  afraid.  You  may  think  me  very  strange, 
but  —  "  she  glanced  back  at  the  old  man,  who  was  watching 
the  wind  and  bringing  the  boat  in  to  skirt  the  shore,  and 
leaned  toward  Mark  and  spoke  in  lowered  tone.  "I  often 
long  to  go  off  somewhere  —  to  see  people  and  know  about 
them,  and  how  other  girls  do  —  and  hear  music,  and  see 
pictures,  and  learn  to  do  something  —  I  don't  know  what 
-but—" 

"I  know  things  you  can  do  now,  that  few  young  ladies 
can.  You  can  row  a  boat  —  can't  you?" 

"Oh,  yes,  but  then— " 

"You  can  make  butter,  and  make  a  garden  —  and — " 

"Oh,  of  course  —  but  I  mean  make  something  beautiful." 

"Your  butter  is  beautiful,  Miss  Joyful." 

"But  that 's  something  to  be  eaten  up.  You  know  what 
I  mean  —  something  to  last  —  now  you  are  laughing  at 
me." 

"I'm  not.  I'm  only  thinking  how  short  a  time  your 
butter  would  last  if  I  lived  there,  and  how  much  you  would 
have  to  make." 

She  laughed  too.  "I'd  make  you  do  the  churning,  and 
then  you  'd  get  no  time  for  your  pictures.  Then  you  'd 
know  how  I  feel  sometimes.  Now  may  I  see  it  ?  " 

Not  wishing  to  awaken  self-consciousness  in  her  by  allow- 
ing her  to  see  the  other  pages,  he  shifted  his  seat  and  crossing 
to  her  side  held  the  book  before  her.  "There!  Would  you 
call  that  a  funny  picture?"  he  asked. 

"Oh!"  she  exclaimed,  and  then  "Oh!"  again.  "How 
beautifully  you  work  !  Is  this  some  one  you  know,  or  have 
you  made  it  out  of  your  mind?  Must  —  must  you  have 
ideals  to  make  one  like  this?" 


72  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

"  I  '11  answer  all  your  questions  when  you  tell  me  if  you 
like  her." 

"Ah,  that 's  not  fair."  She  leaned  over  and  looked  care- 
fully and  long  at  the  face,  while  he  still  held  the  book,  un- 
willing to  relinquish  it  to  her  hand.  At  length  she  said, 
lifting  her  eyes  to  his :  "I  can't  see  why  you  should  look  as 
if  you  were  making  something  ridiculous  when  you  were 
making  this,  whether  it 's  from  your  mind,  or  whether  it 's 
some  one  you  know." 

"Did  I  look  so?" 

"Yes.  And  if  you  should  look  so  when  you  were 
making  a  picture  of  me  or  of  my  grandfather,  I  would  n't 
like  it.  If  your  ideals  make  you  look  so  when  you 
work,  I  don't  believe  I  'd  care  to  have  them,  after  all." 

"I  know  a  writer  who  jots  down  ideas  which  occur  to  him, 
which  he  does  n't  wish  to  forget,  in  a  little  book.  He  calls 
it  making  notes.  That  is  the  way  I  use  these  little  drawings 
I  make  in  this  sketchbook.  They  are  my  notes.  Now, 
tell  me,  did  I  look  as  if  I  were  making  something  ridicu- 
lous when  I  was  making  my  other  notes,  before  I  did  this 
one?" 

"I  didn't  think  of  it,  but  I  guess  not.  If  you  had,  I 
should  have  noticed  it." 

"Why?"  he  asked,  closing  the  book,  and  slapping  the 
palm  of  one  hand  with  it. 

"Because." 

He  laughed.  "That 's  such  a  decisive  and  final  'because' 
one  would  think  you  'd  given  an  excellent  reason." 

She  laughed  merrily  with  him.  "I  have.  It's  all  the 
reason  you  '11  get,  too." 

"Very  well,  that  settles  it.     Now,  look  at  this  again." 


73 

He  held  the  book  open  before  her.  "Tell  me  —  do  you 
think  she  is  pretty?" 

"Why  —  I  think — "  she  looked  searchingly  at  him. 

"Ah,  you  can't  tell  by  looking  at  me,  you  must  look  at 
the  drawing." 

"Why  —  I  think — "  She  glanced  down,  then  sud- 
denly raising  her  eyes,  and  looking  into  his  very  soul,  she 
asked,  "Do  you  love  her?  Is  she  a  real  person?" 

Mark  leaned  his  elbow  on  his  knee  and  his  head  in  his 
hand,  still  holding  the  book  before  her  and  gazed  of!  on 
the  sea.  "That 's  a  question  I  can't  answer,  the  first 
is  — "  he  said  gently,  "I  can  the  second.  Yes,  she  's  a  real 
person;  at  least  I  think  she  is.  Sometimes  she  seems  un- 
real." 

"I  ought  n't  to  have  asked  that  question,  ought  I  ?  I  'm 
sorry.  They  don't  ask  such  questions  out  there,  do  they  ?  " 

"Do  you  mean  out  in  the  world,  as  you  call  it?" 

"  Yes." 

"No  —  hardly ;  but  you  need  n't  mind  what  they  do  out 
there.  You  're  not  there,  and  here  you  may  ask  any  ques- 
tions you  please." 

"I  only  asked  because  I  did  n't  wish  to  say  anything  you 
would  n't  —  that  would  n't  be  pleasant  to  hear  said  of  any- 
body one  loved  —  but  then  —  it  would  n't  make  any  dif- 
ference to  you  what  I  might  say.  You  're  only  amusing 
yourself,  and  I  —  " 

"No,  Miss  Joyful.  I  am  in  earnest.  I  wish  to  know 
what  you  think  about  this  face.  Go  on." 

"It  need  n't  make  any  difference,  anyway,  whatever  I  may 
say.  I  could  only  guess  and  make  up  about  it,  as  I  make  up 
stories  and  fancies.  I  don't  know  any  real  people  to  judge 


74  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

by,  only  people  in  my  books,  and  those  in  my  mind  that  I 
make  up  as  I  do  my  dragons  and  monsters." 

"Miss  Joyful,"  he  said,  pleadingly,  "  tell  it  just  as  you 
would  if  you  had  seen  it,  and  had  never  heard  of  me.  Nothing 
will  hurt  me  that  you  can  say,  and  after  you  are  through 
I  will  tell  you  a  secret  about  it  that  will  interest  you." 

"All  right,"  she  said  joyously.  "I  like  to  make  up  about 
pictures  of  people,  just  as  I  do  about  Mary  Queen  of  Scots, 
or  Marie  Antoinette.  Let 's  see  —  "  she  bent  over  the  face 
earnestly.  "  I  like  queens.  Let 's  pretend  first  that  she  's 
a  queen  —  shall  we  ?  " 

"Yes,  yes.    That's  right." 

"And  we'll  pretend  that  she's  very  beautiful  —  ?" 

"That's  for  you  to  tell  me,  you  know." 

"Well,  queens  always  are  beautiful,  so  we  '11  have  her  so  — 
at  least  when  she  forgets  she 's  a  queen,  and  loves  some  one 
else." 

"Some  one  else  than  who?" 

"Why  — than  herself." 

Mark  was  inwardly  convulsed.  She  caught  a  glimpse  of 
the  satirical  smile  she  had  seen  before,  and  stopped.  "Go 
on,  Miss  Joyful,"  he  said. 

"You  look  that  way  again." 

"I  was  only  wondering  what  she  would  say  if  she  could 
hear  you  say  that.     You  see,  she  calls  herself  an  altruist  — 
one  who  loves  the  whole  world  —  you  understand  —  every- 
body in  it?    She  says  that's  her  religion." 

"Oh  —  then  —  let  me  see.  Do  you  mean  she  loves  the 
whole  world,  and  nobody  in  particular?" 

"Yes  —  maybe  that  is  it." 

"Oh.    Then  we  '11  pretend  she 's  very  wonderfully  beauti- 


"ICI  NOUS  SOMMES  HEUREUX"  75 

ful  when  she 's  loving  somebody  in  particular ;  and  not  just 
herself  and  the  whole  world.  And  we  '11  pretend  she  has 
a  look  no  one  can  understand,  but  that  when  one  sees  her 
one  becomes  fascinated  by  her,  and  thinks  of  her  day  and 
night  —  in  the  old  days,  in  Greece,  you  know,  people  thought 
there  were  beings  like  that  —  and  follows  her  wherever 
she  goes,  and  although  she  likes  it  she  never  sees  them,  only 
now  and  then  in  a  sideways  kind  of  a  glance,  but  that  she 
always  looks  away  off  at  the  whole  world.  And  we  '11 
pretend  she  wears  long  white  robes  like  a  Greek  goddess, 
and  that  one  goes  down  on  one's  knees  when  she  passes,  and 
catches  at  her  robes,  and  kisses  them,  and  cries  out,  'Don't 
love  the  whole  world,  Queen,  love  me,  love  me,'  but  she 
only  puts  out  her  hand  and  gathers  her  robe  around  her, 
and  is  very  calm  and  cold,  as  if  she  were  carved  all  out  of 
beautiful  white  stone,  so  that  she  could  walk  through  the  fire 
without  burning,  and  her  lips  curve  a  little  more  than  they  do 
here,  and  she  says,  'What  are  you,  that  I  should  love  you  in 
particular  ?  Don't  you  see  that  I  must  love  all  these  mil- 
lions and  millions  who  are  looking  at  me,  and  that  I  am  a 
queen  ? '  and  all  the  world  is  so  wide  and  so  far  away  that  — " 

Mark  took  the  book  away  from  her  with  a  laugh,  and 
buttoned  it  inside  his  coat. 

"You  said  I  might  say  anything  I  pleased  about  it,  and 
I  'm  not  through.  Does  she  make  every  one  do  what  she 
wishes,  and  think  what  she  wishes,  whether  they  wish  to  or 
not?" 

Mark  nodded.     "Not  quite  every  one.    Almost." 

"Now  what's  the  interesting  secret  you  were  going  to 
tell  about  it  ?  I  'm  not  through,  but  you  've  taken  the  book 
away,  and  that  ends  the  story." 


76  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

"It  is  this.  The  lady  whom  this  drawing  is  like,  is  one 
of  those  terrible  monsters  you  were  telling  about.  So  you 
see,  they  're  not  always  ugly.  Sometimes  they  're  very 
beautiful,  as  she  is." 

"Why  should  you  speak  of  her  so?"  said  Joyful,  pity- 
ingly, opening  wide  her  eyes. 

"Because  she  can  quietly  and  charmingly  tear  down  more 
ideals  in  a  single  evening's  chat  than  the  most  hideous 
monster  man  ever  set  eyes  on  —  and  —  as  to  fighting  her  — 
It 's  hard  to  fight  so  beautiful  a  creature." 

"Yes."  Joyful  spoke  thoughtfully  and  slowly.  "I  sup- 
pose the  only  thing  to  do  with  such  a  monster  would  be  to 
disarm  it  so  it  could  n't  fight." 

"Again  you  are  a  wise  little  woman,  Miss  Joyful.  Where 
do  you  get  your  wisdom?" 

She  smiled  and  shook  her  head.  "I'm  not  talking  to 
appear  wise  —  and  —  do  you  know  —  I  like  to  talk  to  you 
better  than  any  one  I  've  ever  seen  since  father  and  mother 
were  with  me  —  only  for  one  thing." 

What  she  said  pleased  Mark.  He  had  become  so 
strongly  interested  in  her  that  he  was  even  touched  with 
a  little  pleasant  vanity  at  her  frank  confession.  "And 
what  is  the  one  thing  that  spoils  it,  Miss  Joyful?"  he  said 
smilingly. 

"Oh,  I  didn't  feel  it  until  after  you  made  that  picture." 

"I  don't  know  what  I  did.  I  wouldn't  have  this  hour 
spoiled  for  me  by  the  thought  of  anything  not  pleasant  to 
you,  Miss  Joyful ;  tell  me  what  it  is  as  frankly  and  freely 
as  you  would  have  done  before  I  made  it.  Won't  you?" 

"It  wasn't  the  picture,  Mr.  Thorn  —  please  don't  think 
that.  I  don't  know  what  it  was  —  unless — " 


"ICI  NOUS   SOMMES   HEUREUX"  77 

"Don't  stop  at  'unless.'" 

"Why  —  perhaps  it  was  the  look  you  had  —  as  if  — 
Oh,  I  can't  tell  you.  It  was  nothing." 

"Ah,  no.     It  was  something.    What  was  it?" 

"Tell  me.  Out  in  the  world  do  people  talk  together  all 
nicely,  and  yet  be  laughing  at  each  other  all  the  time  with 
that  kind  of  a  feeling  underneath?" 

"With  what  kind  of  a  feeling,  Miss  Joyful?" 

"With  a  kind  of  a  despising  feeling." 

"Oh,  Miss  Joyful,  don't  put  such  an  interpretation  on  it." 

"I  don't  mind  being  laughed  at  when  there  is  anything 
funny,  you  know,  and  no  doubt  there  often  is.  Grand- 
father does  it.  But  I  would  mind  the  other." 

"Don't,  don't,  Miss  Joyful.  I  could  never  have  such  a 
feeling  toward  you." 

"Or  toward  any  one  else?" 

"Out  in  the  world  there  are  often  things  that  deserve  such 
a  feeling,  but  remember,  we  are  n't  there,  and  I  shall  never 
bring  anything  here  that  does  n't  belong  here." 

"Unless  something  calls  it  up." 

Mark  winced  inwardly.  "No,  not  if  I  can  help  it,  even 
then.  Now  tell  me  how  you  could  possibly  think  I  was 
having  such  a  feeling  toward  you." 

"It  is  when  you  call  me  wise.  I  don't  like  it.  It  would 
be  all  right  for  me  to  call  you  wise.  You  have  had  a  chance 
to  become  so  —  but  —  for  me  —  you  know  it  is  impossible, 
so  why  should  you  say  it  ?  and  when  you  do,  how  could 
you  help  feeling  that  way  underneath  ?  " 

Mark  smiled.  He  was  on  the  point  of  saying,  as  before, 
"You  are  a  wise  little  woman,"  but  checked  himself  in  time. 
"  Miss  Joyful,  is  n't  there  a  place  in  the  Bible  —  no  doubt  you 


78  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

know  it  better  than  I  —  where  the  wisdom  of  wise  men  is 
called  folly,  and  little  children  are  called  wise?" 

"Yes."  Her  face  lighted.  "Is  it  something  about  things 
being  hidden  from  the  wise  and  being  revealed  unto  babes  ? 
Very  well.  I  am  willing  to  be  one  of  the  babes  —  if  that  is 
what  you  mean." 

"Joy,  I  calc'late  't  we'd  better  be  startin'  for  home. 
How  is  it,  Mr.  Thorn,  where  'bouts  would  you  like  us  to 
leave  you?" 

"Oh,  anywhere  along  here,  Mr.  Heatherby,  where  I  shall 
be  within  walking  distance  from  Woodbury  Center." 

"Well,  I  c'n  put  you  off  ten  miles  f'm  there,  'r  I  c'n  put 
you  off  five  miles  f'm  there,  'r  I  c'n  take  you  back  to  the 
cove  'nd  give^  you  a  good  supper,  'nd  ye  'd  be  two  miles 
f'm  ye'r .  boarding  house." 

"All  right,"  Mark  laughed.  "I  will  return  with  you,  but 
forego  the  supper,  and  walk  through  the  woods  to  my 
boarding  house,  if  that  will  suit  you." 

"That  '11  suit  me  —  only  I  don't  intend  to  forego  my  sup- 
per; do  you,  Joy?  I 'd  a  leetle  rather  put  right  back  f'm 
here  without  stoppin'  to  land  anywhere,  f'r  it 's  blowin'  up 
a  leetle  cold>  'nd  it  '11  be  colder  still 't  sundown.  Joy,  had  n't 
ye  better  put  on  ye'r  bunnit?" 

"I  love  to  feel  the  breeze,  grand-daddy.  I  'm  not  a  bit 
cold." 

"Well,  we  '11  get  back  sooner  'n  we  came.  I  had  to  tack 
c'nsiderable  to  get  out  here  at  all.  East  wind;  't  means 
rain  to-morrow." 

"Then  I  'm  glad  we  had  our  sail  to-day,"  said  Mark. 

Mr.  Heatherby  shifted  his  sail  and  turned  about,  and 
then  sat  down  to  enjoy  the  quick  run  before  the  wind. 


"ICI  NOUS  SOMMES  HEUREUX "  79 

Mark  drew  out  his  book  and  began  a  sketch  of  the  old 
man's  head,  as  he  sat  opposite  him  at  Joyful's  side,  while 
she,  with  pleased  admiration,  watched  the  likeness  grow. 

"I  wish  I  could  do  that,"  she  said. 

"No  doubt  you  could,  after  a  while,  if  you  tried."  But 
she  shook  her  head,  and  continued  to  watch  in  silence, 
while  he  chatted  with  her  grandfather. 

They  were  soon  at  the  little  pier  where  they  sat  and 
waited,  while  the  old  man  took  care  of  his  boat,  and  Mark 
added  a  few  finishing  touches  to  the  head  he  was  penciling. 

"Now,  do  you  like  it?"  he  said,  holding  it  out  to  her. 

"Oh,  yes,  yes!     Can  we  show  it  to  grandmother?" 

He  took  his  knife  and  carefully  cut  the  leaf  from  the  book. 

"Would  you  like  to  have  this?"  he  asked. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Thorn,  did  you  make  it  for  me?  Don't  you 
want  it  yourself?" 

"I  made  it  for  you,  if  you  care  for  it.  It  doesn't  quite 
please  me.  I  was  too  absent-minded.  To  make  a  really 
good  likeness  one  must  have  complete  concentration.  One 
can't  do  it  and  be  thinking  of  something  else." 

"But  I  am  glad  to  have  this,  Mr.  Thorn,  and  I  think  it 
was  good  of  you  to  make  it  for  me." 

"And  did  I  look  in  that  objectionable  way  while  I  made 
it,  Miss  Joyful?" 

"No,  no  !  You  did  'nt.  Oh,  I  hope,  Mr.  Thorn,  I  have  n't 
said  —  I  am  sorry  I  said  — " 

"Ah,  but  you  have  said,  and  I  am  glad  you  said  —  and 
I  hope  you  will  say  again  whatever  you  please  to  say,  and 
never  stop  to  think  whether  you  shall  or  shall  not.  Miss 
Joyful,  when  you  look  at  this,  remember  only  the  pleasant 
things  about  this  sail,  as  I  shall.  And  remember  this  also, 


8o  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

that  you  have  helped  me  in  my  fight;  will  you?  And  so 
regret  nothing  you  may  think  you  have  said,  and  be  glad. 
I  may  leave  this  place  in  a  few  days,  and  I  may  stay  long, 
but  I  will  never  forget."  He  looked  pleasantly  into  her 
face,  and  their  eyes  met. 

"Thank  you,  I  will.  I  don't  quite  understand  all  —  I 
wish  I  did  —  but  I  will  try  to  believe  what  you  say." 

"No,  you  may  not  quite  understand.  You  couldn't, 
without  having  been  out  there  —  as  you  call  it,  and  I  am 
glad  you  have  not." 

"What  ye  got,  Joy?"  said  the  old  man,  coming  up  and 
looking  over  Joyful's  shoulder.  "Well,  well,  well !  Caught 
on  the  fly,  so  to  speak."  He  took  out  his  glasses  and  care- 
fully adjusted  them.  "Now  give  it  to  me  and  we'll  have 
a  look  at  it  and  then  pass  criticism.  Well,  well !  That's 
Grand-daddy  Heatherby,  wrinkles  and  all." 

"Oh,  Grandfather!  Be  careful.  Don't  let  the  wind 
blow  it  away.  It 's  mine,  Grandfather." 

"Your  grandfather  ?     Course  it  is.     Who  said  it  wan't  ?" 

They  walked  slowly  across  the  sands  and  up  the  crooked 
little  path.  At  the  top  of  the  bluff,  Mark  removed  his  hat, 
and  looked  off  on  the  sea.  Thin  clouds  were  rolling  over 
the  edge  of  the  horizon.  Their  pleasant  day  was  past. 
The  sun  was  making  gold  the  sky  behind  the  dark  woods, 
as  they  took  their  way  through  the  pasture  lot,  and  subtle, 
sweet  odors  of  spring  floated  about  them.  A  pink  mist  of 
crab-apple  blossoms  hung  on  the  edge  of  the  wood,  and  a 
bird  note  sweetened  the  stillness.  A  spell  of  witchery 
seemed  over  them,  and  over  the  world.  They  did  not  speak, 
but  walked  up  the  long  slope  in  silence.  Joyful  swung  her 
bonnet  in  her  hand,  and  her  rapt  face  bore  no  cloud.  Her 


"ICI   NOUS   SOMMES   HEUREUX"  81 

glorious  color,  half-smiling  lips,  and  clear  eyes  —  lighted 
from  within  —  and  the  old  man's  cordial  grasp  of  the  hand 
as  they  parted  at  the  gate,  left  a  pleasant  feeling  around 
Mark  Thorn's  heart  as  he  walked  away. 

"You  '11  bear  us  in  mind,  and  look  in  on  us  sometimes," 
said  Mr.  Heatherby,  and  Mark  was  glad. 

"This  is  certainly  a  charmed  spot,"  he  said  to  himself, 
as  he  took  his  way  through  the  darkening  lane. 


CHAPTER  V 

MIXED  EMOTIONS 

"  Like  as  a  ship,  that  through  the  ocean  wyde 
Directs  her  course  unto  one  certaine  cost, 
It  met  of  many  a  counter  wynde  and  tyde, 
With  which  her  winged  speed  is  let  and  crost, 
And  she  herselfe  in  stormie  surges  tost ; 
Yet  making  many  a  horde  and  many  a  bay, 
Still  winneth  way,  ne  hath  her  compasse  lost ; 
Right  so  it  fares  with  me  in  this  long  way 
Whose  course  is  often  stayed,  yet  never  is  astray." 

—  The  Faerie  Queenc. 

THAT  evening,  by  the  light  of  a  lamp,  Mark  removed 
a  portion  of  the  things  from  his  trunk,  whistling  softly  as  he 
worked;  and  soon  had  reduced  his  painfully  neat  apart- 
ment to  a  scene  of  the  wildest  disorder.  Poor  Mrs.  Somers' 
hair  would  have  untwisted  itself  from  its  tight  knot  and 
stood  on  end  with  horror,  could  she  have  looked  in  on  him, 
as  he  rose  and  stood  amid  the  confusion  with  evident  satis- 
faction. 

"There!"  he  exclaimed,  "I  feel  more  at  home."  He 
kicked  a  pair  of  riding  boots  under  the  bed.  "They  may 
as  well  lie  there.  I  sha'  n't  ride  much  here,"  he  said. 

At  last  he  took  up  a  piece  of  board  and  opening  a  box  of 
dusty  pastels  began  to  lay  in  a  girl's  head,  working  very 
slowly,  and  keeping  up  the  continuous  low  whistle.  "I  '11 
try  monochrome  first  and  use  color  later,"  he  thought. 

82 


MIXED  EMOTIONS  83 

Two  little  lines  formed  between  his  eyes,  and  creased  deeply 
into  his  forehead,  and  the  shadows  of  the  lamp  light  made 
them  look  deeper  still.  Now  and  again  he  placed  the  board 
in  the  light,  leaning  against  the  glass  of  the  bureau,  and 
walked  back  —  softly  whistling  —  when  the  lines  in  his 
forehead  smoothed  themselves  and  the  brows  lifted;  now 
and  again  they  would  form  and  the  brows  fall  as  he  worked 
and  whistled,  and  the  face  grew  dreamily  like  the  one  he 
had  been  studying  all  the  afternoon. 

Suddenly  a  harsh  clangor  crashed  through  the  room. 
11  For  Heaven's  sake  !  I  did  n't  know  I  was  directly  over 
that  awful  piano."  The  strains  of  "Affection's  Offering 
Waltz"  were  tumultuously  reverberating  through  the  little 
parlor  and  pervading  the  halls  and  Mark's  room  with  tri- 
umphant assertiveness.  Mr.  Somers  was  right.  "  Jane 
could  play  the  piano  like  a  steam  ingine." 

Mark  turned  his  drawing  to  the  wall,  hastily  dusted  the 
crayon  from  his  hands,  using  his  one  towel  for  the  purpose, 
and  making  it  look  as  if  he  had  wiped  all  the  complexion 
from  a  full-blooded  African  on  its  knotty  surface,  snatched 
up  his  hat,  and  left  the  place.  The  air  was  chill,  and  button- 
ing his  coat  to  the  chin,  he  thrust  his  hands  deep  in  its 
pockets  and  strode  rapidly  away.  He  would  get  out  of  reach 
of  the  sound  of  that  piano,  if  he  had  to  take  Heatherby's 
boat  and  put  out  to  sea. 

Rapt  in  thought,  he  walked  aimlessly,  taking  little  note  of 
direction.  The  streets  of  the  village  were  dimly  lighted. 
Now  and  then  people  passed  him  like  shadows  in  dreams. 
Presently  the  notes  of  a  hymn  sung  by  several  voices  came 
to  him,  sounding  sweetly  through  the  darkness,  and  simul- 
taneously an  echo  of  the  words  he  had  heard  at  Elizabeth 


84  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

Drew's  door  in  the  early  morning  —  "  Will  you  be  at  choir 
practice  this  evening?  Joyful  says  she  will  be  there." 
Unconsciously  he  quickened  his  steps  in  the  direction  from 
which  the  sound  came. 

He  remembered  Jane  Somers'  remark  at  the  supper  table, 
that  "The  'piscopals  were  going  to  have  service  that  even- 
ing, 't  she  believed  they  was  more  'n  half  Cath'lic  anyway, 
with  their  Saints'  days  'nd  all,"  and  that  "Joyful  Heatherby 
would  surely  be  there,  she  bein'  so  dreadfully  religious, 
her  ma's  father  bein'  a  'piscopal  minister,  'nd  all, "  and  that 
"that  Than  Stoddard  would  be  there  too,  so  't  he  could  see 
her  home." 

Mrs.  Somers  had  opined  that,  "If  Than  Stoddard  kep' 
on  doin  's  he  been  doin'  't  Elizabeth  Drew  'd  be  wearin* 
mournin'  'fore  the  summer  was  over."  And  Mr.  Somers 
had  remarked  that,  "He  see  Jack  Stoddard  talkin'  with 
his  brother  over  in  their  father's  north  field  's  he  drove  home 
from  Willoughby  Junction  that  afternoon,  'nd  he  guessed 
mebby  he  'd  come  home  now  to  stay  'nd  behave  himself  'nd 
help  Than  out 's  he  'd  ought  to,  'nd  more  'n  likely  he  'd  have 
somethin'  to  say  'bout  who  sh'd  see  Joy  Heatherby  home." 

So,  pleasantly  interested  and  amused  at  this  lifting  of 
the  curtain  upon  the  drama  of  the  village  stage,  Mark 
joined  the  company  of  the  devout  ones,  and  entered  the 
little  church.  He  seated  himself  in  one  of  the  pews  and 
looked  quietly  about.  Of  the  dramatis  personae  only  the 
radiant  young  woman  he  had  seen  talking  with  Nathanael 
in  the  morning  appeared.  Evidently  she  had  decided  to 
come  after  all.  She  sat  quite  still,  with  her  head  slightly 
bowed  and  her  profile  toward  him,  before  the  small  pipe 
organ  built  in  at  one  side  of  the  chancel.  Her  hair  glowed 


MIXED   EMOTIONS  85 

warmly  in  the  light  thrown  on  it  from  the  reflector  lamp 
above  her.  As  his  eyes  grew  used  to  the  dimness,  he  saw 
Nathanael,  in  the  black  garb  of  the  choir,  seated  in  the 
shadow,  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  her  face.  "Mrs.  Somers 
makes  a  mistake,"  thought  Mark.  But  where  was  Joyful  ? 
Looking  again  about  the  church,  he  felt  a  distinct  sense  of 
disappointment  at  not  seeing  her. 

It  was  early.  The  choir  had  ceased  their  practice,  and 
there  was  a  hush  of  waiting  as  the  small  number  of  worship- 
ers gathered.  A  young  man  sauntered  in  and  dropped  into 
a  pew  across  the  aisle  from  him.  Mark  saw  Nathanael 
glance  that  way  and  move  uneasily  in  his  seat.  Then  a 
small  pointed  door  on  the  farther  side  was  pushed  open  from 
within,  and  four  young  women  in  black  capes  and  flat  caps 
entered  and  moved  to  their  seats  near  the  organ.  Joyful 
was  one  of  them.  She  looked  up  and  exchanged  a  smile 
with  the  organist,  who  passed  her  a  hymn  book  open.  The 
rays  of  the  same  light  that  glowed  on  Elizabeth's  hair  shone 
on  her  face,  and  she  looked  out  over  the  church  with  much 
the  same  expression  in  her  eyes  as  when  she  was  gazing  on 
the  sea.  Suddenly  a  flash  of  recognition  lightened  them, 
and  a  wave  of  color  swept  over  her  face,  as  she  dropped  her 
glance  quickly  upon  her  open  book,  and  Mark  saw  the  young 
man  across  the  aisle  gazing  at  her;  but  she  did  not  once 
again  look  out  over  the  congregation.  Studying  thus  the 
faces  of  those  in  whom  he  had  so  newly  become  interested, 
the  short  service  was  ended  ere  he  was  aware,  and  people 
began  moving  past  him. 

Mark  loitered,  hoping  to  exchange  greetings  with  Na- 
thanael, and  the  young  man  across  the  aisle  loitered  also, 
walking  down  the  side  toward  the  choir  seats.  When  Joy- 


86  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

ful  appeared,  Mark  saw  him  greet  her  warmly  and  possess 
himself  of  her  hymn  book  and  shawl.  She  turned  and 
waited  for  Elizabeth  and  Nathanael  to  join  them,  and  then 
the  rector  came  from  the  vestry,  walking  with  a  quick  step. 
As  Joyful  and  the  young  man  passed  Mark,  she  did  not  guess 
whose  eyes  scanned  her  face.  She  was  listening  to  the 
rapid  speech  of  the  man  at  her  side.  Nathanael  followed, 
and  as  Mark  bade  him  "Good  evening,"  he  looked  up  with 
pleasant  recognition,  and  asked  him  how  he  liked  his 
quarters,  and  introduced  him  to  the  rector,  who  in  turn 
repeated  his  name  to  his  wife  and  Elizabeth.  A  few  kindly 
words  were  exchanged  between  them,  and  inquiries  made 
regarding  his  stay,  the  rector  hoping  he  might  see  him  often, 
and  they  all  passed  out  together. 

As  Mark  walked  on  in  the  darkness  he  saw  Joyful  and  her 
companion  lingering,  and  heard  Nathanael  say,  "Waiting, 
Jack?"  and  Jack's  reply,  "Yes,  Than,  I'll  take  the  girls 
home.  You  need  n't  trouble  yourself."  "  You  'd  better  put 
that  shawl  around  Joy.  The  night 's  chilly,  Jack,"  he  heard 
Nathanael  say,  and  saw  him  take  Elizabeth's  arm.  Then 
the  four  walked  off  together. 

Mark  sauntered  slowly  houseward,  thinking  —  thinking. 
He  felt  that  he  was  ever  pondering  and  getting  nowhere  these 
days.  "  '  Stop  trifling,  Mark,  and  go  to  work,'  "  he  said  to 
himself.  "Well,  I  suppose  Louise  knows  what  she  means; 
I  don't.  This  dreaming  and  striving  —  is  it  trifling  ? 
When  I  taught,  she  said  I  was  trifling  away  my  time; 
now  that  I  have  given  up  my  position,  she  thinks  I  'm 
trifling  more  than  ever.  If  I  took  up  some  vagary  in  art  and 
carried  it  to  an  extreme  until  the  startled  world  should  cry 
my  name  from  the  housetops,  she  might  call  that  success. 


MIXED  EMOTIONS  87 

My  picture  of  dawn,  the  only  thing  she  ever  praised,  the 
poorest  thing  I  ever  hung  on  a  wall,  all  one  purple  blotch  — 
she  liked  it  because  it  attracted  attention.  There  was  al- 
ways a  crowd  around  it,  wondering  what  on  earth  the  artist 
meant  by  it,  when  he  did  n't  know  himself  —  God  help  him 
—  pretending  to  admire  it  because  they  could  n't  understand 
it  —  but  —  pity  their  souls  !  no  doubt  it 's  human  to  like 
mystery  and  run  in  herds.  The  little  girl  was  right. 
Louise  loves  power."  He  found  himself  laughing  alone  out 
there  in  the  darkness.  "I  would  give  a  hundred  dollars  if 
Louise  could  have  heard  that,  'So  cold  she  could  walk 
through  fire  and  not  be  burned'  —  no,  nor  melted,  either. 
But  she  is  —  I  declare  it  —  she 's  a  glorious  creature. 
And  there  it  is.  I  must  take  up  with  some  kind  of  a  fad, 
and  make  a  hit.  —  Nothing  short  of  the  homage  of  the  whole 
world  will  content  her.  But  she 's  worth  it.  She 's  a  mag- 
nificent being. 

"'Mark  Thorn,  work  for  art  alone.  Pay  no  attention 
to  the  critics  —  they  don't  know  anything.  First,  last, 
always  be  an  artist.'  Very  well,  that 's  not  bad  —  no,  it 's 
the  only  thing.  He  knew  what  I  needed,  that  old  teacher 
of  mine.  And  then  my  blessed  mother's  last  words:  'Mark, 
never  degrade  your  talents  by  pandering  to  an  unworthy 
motive.  Be  true  to  the  best  that  is  in  you,  my  son.  Be 
true  to  your  God.  Be  true  to  my  hopes  of  you,  Mark.' 
My  God,  what  a  mother  she  was  !  If  she  were  with  me,  I 
could  hold  out;  but  I  declare,  I'm  discouraged.  'Stop 
trifling,  get  to  work'  —  am  I  not  always  working ?  —  'and 
bring  the  world  to  your  feet.'  That 's  it.  The  world,  the 
world,  always  the  world.  And  my  reward  ?  I  should  have 
the  queen  of  Joyful's  dream  picture  to  be  mine.  Ah,  it 's 


88  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

worth  striving  for  —  yes  —  if,  when  all 's  done,  she  does  n't 
toss  me  over  for  some  new  whim." 

When  he  reached  Mrs.  Somers'  the  piano  was  still.  The 
lamp  burned  in  his  room  as  he  had  left  it.  He  sat  himself 
down,  his  hands  thrust  deep  in  his  pockets,  and  his  head 
drooped  upon  his  breast.  His  lank  form  stretched  half 
across  the  room  and  his  feet  rested  upon  the  articles  he  had 
thrown  from  his  trunk.  Soon  he  roused  himself,  and  taking 
up  his  drawing,  set  it  in  the  light  where  Joyful's  dreamy 
eyes  looked  out  at  him  from  an  indiscriminate  mist.  "I  '11 
make  this  as  ideal  as  possible.  I  can't  make  it  more  so  than 
she  is,"  he  said.  Then  he  thought  of  Elizabeth  Drew's 
head  glowing  out  of  the  obscurity,  and  decided  to  become 
a  regular  attendant  at  evening  service  until  he  had  it,  and 
grimly  wondered  how  Louise  would  like  it  if  he  made  a 
specialty  of  red-headed  girls. 

The  particular  red-headed  girl  in  question  was  just  bidding 
Nathanael  good-bye  at  her  own  door.  "I  'm  glad  you  have 
decided  as  you  have,"  she  was  saying. 

"And  I  'm  glad  you  did  n't  hold  to  your  determination  not 
to  go  out  this  evening.  I  needed  this  talk  with  you.  I 
suppose  there 's  never  a  moment  when,  somewhere  on  this 
earth,  some  woman  is  not  doing  some  man  or  other  good. 
That  seems  the  way  the  best  of  us  are  made  to  be  worth 
being." 

"Nathanael! "  Elizabeth  put  out  her  hand  and  touched, 
very  lightly,  the  sleeve  of  his  coat.  It  was  an  involuntary 
movement,  prompted  by  a  loving  impulse,  and  as  poplar 
leaves  quiver  to  the  lightest  breath,  so  every  nerve  of  his 
being  responded  to  the  touch. 

He  restrained  himself  from  taking  the  hand  in  his.    What 


MIXED  EMOTIONS  89 

had  he  for  her  ?  He,  whose  life  had  been  spent  for  others, 
had  nothing  to  offer  the  woman  he  loved.  So  he  stood, 
awkwardly  waiting  for  her  to  continue,  and  as  she  searched 
for  just  the  word  she  wanted,  he  bent  and  kissed  the  fascinat- 
ing little  combination  of  ribbon  and  lace  she  wore  upon  her 
head,  while  she  spoke  on,  unaware  of  the  secret  homage. 

"Nathanael,  I  believe  I  '11  scold  you  a  little." 

"  That 's  a  fearful  threat.  I  think  I  '11  run."  But  instead 
he  folded  his  arms  and  leaned  against  the  door  post. 

"  Don't  disparage  yourself .  I  can't  believe  it  is  right.  I 
admit  Jack 's  a  brilliant  chap,  but  does  that  in  any  way 
militate  against  you?  I  think  self-depreciation  is  a  hin- 
drance to  a  man.  It  gives  him  a  faint  heart.  It  makes  him 
shrink  backward  when  he  ought  to  be  pressing  forward.  I 
declare  I  will  not  hear  you  tell  of  what  Jack  is  and  what 
he  can  do.  Can't  you  see  that  is  neither  here  nor  there,  as 
far  as  you  are  concerned?" 

"Can't  I  see?    Yes,  Elizabeth,  yes,  go  on." 

"Oh,  that 's  all.  I  just  want  you  to  think  highly  of  your- 
self. You  have  certain  God-given  power  —  every  man 
has,  in  some  degree  —  but  you  more  than  many,  and  because 
it  is  God-given  you  have  no  right  to  belittle  it  —  no  man 
has.  To  depreciate  one's  self  takes  the  buoyancy  out  of 
life.  To  feel  competent  is  to  feel  strong.  Good  night." 

She  gave  him  her  hand,  and  he  held  it  an  instant  closed 
warmly  in  his,  but  again  the  words  that  rose  to  his  lips  from 
his  inmost  heart  he  would  not  let  himself  utter,  so  he  spoke 
lamely  other  words.  "You  are  right,  I  know  it,  yet  it's 
—  it  's  easier  for  a  man  to  work  for  some  one  else  than  for 
himself  —  it 's  more  inspiring  —  I  mean  it  seems  less  —  " 

"Oh,  you  great  good  fellow,  you,  go  along!    If  I  could 


90  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

only  see  your  self-esteem  rise  up  and  dominate  your  other 
faculties  —  Nathanael,  take  my  advice.  Harrow  and 
cultivate  your  bump  of  self-esteem  during  this  summer  and 
see  what  a  crop  you  can  raise." 

He  laughed.  "No  need  now,  Elizabeth;  you  have  sowed 
the  seed,  and  have  harrowed  it  well  in.  Some  day  you  '11 
have  to  reap  the  crop  in  retribution.  I  'm  already  beginning 
to  feel  the  effects.  It 's  very  pleasant  for  a  man  to  have 
liis  self-esteem  flattered,  —  I  wish  we  had  gone  on  to  the 
end  of  the  road  with  Joyful  and  my  brother.  He  would  n't 
have  been  so  pleased  with  our  company,  though.  Did  you 
hear  him  dismiss  me  at  the  church  door  ?  "  He  gave  another 
little  laugh  and  paused,  then  continued,  "I  'm  troubled  about 
them,  especially  about  Joy ;  Jack  can  take  care  of  himself. 
Can't  you  help  me?" 

Her  whole  figure  became  tense,  but  in  the  dusk  he  did 
not  see.  "How  are  you  troubled?  I  don't  quite  compre- 
hend." 

"I  started  to  tell  you  this  morning,  but  did  n't.  It's 
hard  to  compromise  my  own  brother,  but  the  truth  is,  I 
almost  wish  he  hadn't  come  home  before  sailing." 

Elizabeth  thought  she  understood,  but  held  her  peace. 
"He  is  afraid  his  brother  will  win  her  away  from  him,"  she 
thought.  "He  might  say  what  he  had  to  say."  This  time 
she  would  not  help  him. 

"Joy  is  such  a  child  yet  —  "  he  paused,  and  Elizabeth  let 
him  stumble  on,  "although  in  a  way  she  is  older  than  her 
years.  I  —  I  —  have  taken  pains  to  see  something  of  her 
of  late,  because  —  because  —  it  seemed  best  —  since  you 
were  not  here  to  —  to  play  older  sister  to  her  as  you  have 
always  done.  You  see  she  should  be  saved  from  any 


MIXED   EMOTIONS  91 

entanglement  —  until  —  she  has  seen  more  of  the  world  — 
even  if  it  may  cut  across  Jack's  plans." 

"Have  you  any  reason  to  know  what  Jack's  plans  are?" 
she  said  coldly. 

"He  hasn't  chosen  me  for  his  confidant."  She  stood 
silent.  "Elizabeth,  can't  you  see  how  it  is?  I  don't 
want  to  speak  against  my  brother  —  women  are  intuitive, 
and  you  —  you  are  superior  to  us  here;  we  have  always 
looked  up  to  you  —  I  have  —  and  to  Joy  you  are  every- 
thing. You  can  save  her  from  any  impetuous  rashness  — 
you  understand." 

"I  think  I  do."  She  spoke  slowly.  "But  you  overrate 
my  power ; "  she  gave  a  short  laugh.  "And  instead  of  look- 
ing up  to  me,  have  you  forgotten  the  time  you  used  to  laugh 
at  me  because  I  could  n't  leap  over  the  brook,  and  you  could  ? 
Yes,  I  understand.  I  '11  do  all  I  can — it  may  not  be  much  — 
for  your  sake. "  Again  she  said  good  night  and  turned  away. 

"No,  no.  It's  for  her  sake,  for  hers  alone.  Please 
remember  that,"  he  cried  and  walked  away  with  a  distinct 
sense  of  discomfiture,  yet  wondering  in  his  big,  innocent 
heart,  why,  while  Elizabeth  was  saying  to  herself :  — 

"I  do  believe  the  best  of  men  can't  be  quite  honest  with 
themselves,  or  any  one  else,  when  it  comes  to  matters  of 
this  kind.  Does  he  think  I  am  in  love  with  him  that  he 
must  try  to  cover  the  truth  from  me  ?  Humph  !  Men  are 
conceited,  every  one  of  them.  For  her  sake  alone!" 

She  forgot  the  lecture  she  had  just  given  him.  She  tossed 
the  bonnet  he  had  kissed  on  the  table,  dropped  her  gloves 
in  a  chair,  took  up  the  lamp  which  had  been  left  burning 
for  her,  and  went  to  her  room. 

Nathanael  was  quite  right  in  supposing  Jack  to  have  had 


92  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

enough  of  his  company.  He  considered  Joyful  as  his  es- 
pecial property,  by  what  right  he  could  scarcely  have  told, 
other  than  that  a  child  has  to  everything  that  strikes  its 
fancy,  from  its  brother's  stick  of  candy  to  the  moon  in  the 
sky,  could  he  manage  to  snatch  the  one  or  pull  down  the  other. 
Drawing  her  hand  through  his  arm  he  swung  bravely  off 
with  her  into  the  darkness,  plunging  into  a  rapid  flow  of 
talk  of  his  own  plans  and  affairs. 

"You  see,  Joy,  Than 's  an  awfully  fine  fellow,  but  he 's  a 
bit  slow.  He  needs  a  college  education  to  get  anywhere; 
but  for  me,  I  can't  wait.  I  mean  to  be  rich.  I  can't  spend 
half  my  life  plodding  along  here  in  New  England  over  Greek 
and  Latin.  New  England  is  n't  any  bigger  'n  your  thumb 
nail,  compared  with  the  rest  of  the  world.  You  can't  know 
anything  about  it,  shut  up  here  in  this  cove,  like  a  canary 
bird  in  a  cage." 

But  Joyful  had  grown  suddenly  older  since  she  had  seen 
Jack  last.  She  had  many  ideas  floating  through  her  girlish 
brain,  vague,  to  be  sure,  yet  forming  the  nebulae  of  true 
wisdom.  Her  resentment  of  his  attitude  toward  her,  and 
her  instinctive  perception  of  the  difference  between  Jack 
and  Mark  Thorn  and  Nathanael  were  part  of  this  very 
nebulae  of  spiritually  discovered  truth.  She  knew  that 
out  in  the  world  the  dragons  and  monsters  of  the  deep  that 
Mark  Thorn  was  contending  with  would  never  even  be 
perceived  by  Jack  to  have  an  existence.  Nathanael  might 
see  them,  but  never  Jack.  His  monsters  would  be  grosser, 
perhaps,  but  less  subtle  and  harder  to  kill. 

However,  her  joyous,  wholesome  nature  remained  as  yet 
undisturbed  by  these  vague  stirrings  within  her,  and  Jack 
was  certainly  a  handsome  fellow  who  had  played  with  her 


MIXED  EMOTIONS  93 

and  domineered  over  her  and  patronized  her  after  his  big- 
boy  fashion  all  her  life.  She  was  used  to  his  tyranny,  and 
he  to  her  little  resentments  and  whirlwinds  and  scoffings. 
Her  wit  had  ever  been  too  much  for  him,  but  he  could 
always  soothe  his  feelings  with  the  thought  that  she  gloried 
in  his  strength,  and  he,  after  all,  was  her  superior,  and  could 
have  his  own  way  with  her  when  he  chose,  and  by  rights 
should  have  it. 

"I'm  going  to  get  rich,  Joy.     A  man  isn't  anything  in 
this  world  without  money.     Let  me  see.     How  long  is  it 
since  I  saw  you  last  ?    Ten  months,  and  I  Ve  cleared  — 
just  you  guess  how  much  I  've  cleared  since  that  time." 
"How  can  I ?     I  don't  even  know  what  you  were  doing." 
"Well,  never  mind,  just  you  guess,  that 's  a  good  girl." 
"Why,  you  cleared  —  you  cleared  out,  I  know  that  much, 
and  when  you  wrote  home  you  cleared  away  a  great  big 
cloud  of  trouble  about  you ;  I  know  that  much  more,  and 
what  else  you  cleared  you  must  tell  me." 

"Joy,  I  made  five  hundred  dollars  the  first  trip.  Think 
of  that,  the  first  go-off !  Oh,  I  'm  safe  enough.  Next  time 
I'll  do  better,  because — " 

"Jack  !  That 's  fine  !  Now  you  can  pay  Nathanael  back 
part  of  the  money,  can't  you?" 

Jack  winced.  "Has  Than  been  talking  to  you  about 
it?"  he  asked  pettishly. 

"You  know  he  would  n't  do  that !  You  told  me  yourself. 
Don't  you  remember?" 

"Oh  yes,  of  course;  well  it 's  hard  for  girls  to  understand 
about  money  matters,  but  you  see,  Joy,  if  I  pay  this  out,  I 
sha'  n't  have  any  for  investment  next  trip." 

"Oh.    Where  did  you  get  the  money  for  the  first?" 


94  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

"Borrowed  that,  of  course,  but  that's  all  straight,  and 
now  I  can  make  more,  not  having  to  borrow  again.  See  ?" 

"Yes,  Jack,  —  but—  " 

"Look  here,  Joy.  Than  knows  how  'tis.  He  's  an  awfully 
good  fellow." 

"Don't  I  know  that?  Everybody  does.  But  he  —  he 
needs  — 

" Don't  you  worry.  He  knows  he  's  all  right  with  me;  we 
understand  each  other."  He  felt  her  hand  slipping  from 
his  arm,  and  he  seized  it  and  held  it  there.  "  Why,  I  ex- 
pect to  help  him  through  yet,  more  'n  likely.  Did  n't  I  tell 
you  I  left  college  just  not  to  be  a  drag  on  him?" 

She  pulled  her  hand  from  his  grasp.  "Don't  hold  on  to 
me  like  that,  Jack.  I  like  to  swing  my  arms.  You  said  so, 
yes  —  but — " 

"You  are  n't  half  glad  to  see  me  back  after  all  this  time. 
Why  do  you  pull  away  and  keep  saying,  'Yes  —  but  — '  ?  " 
He  seized  her  hand  again  and  drew  it  through  his  arm  firmly. 

She  laughed  out  merrily.  "You  act  just  as  you  used  to 
when  you  were  a  boy,  and  think  what  I  want  does  n't  count. 
Of  course  I  'm  glad  to  see  you,  Jack,  —  but  — 

"There  you  go  again,  butting  away  like  a  little  goat. 
I  really  thought  you  would  be  proud  of  me.  What 's  the 
matter?" 

"Jack,  you  shall  let  go  of  my  hand,  and  I  will  swing  my 
arms,  and  walk  by  myself.  As  if  I  hadn't  walked  this 
road  hundreds  of  times  oftener  than  you,  that  I  need  to  be 
helped  along  like  a  baby  !  And  Jack,  sir,  I  'm  not  a  little 
girl  any  longer,  I  'm  a  woman  now,  and  must  '  put  away 
childish  things.'  Grandmother  says  so." 

"Whew  !    All  the  girls  I  know  take  a  turn  at  being  young 


MIXED   EMOTIONS  95 

ladies  before  they  get  to  be  women.  You  must  have  skipped 
that  stage.  Ladies  don't  go  stamping  along  swinging  their 
arms  and  quarreling."  He  laughed,  and  again  caught  her 
hand  and  drew  her  back,  walking  close  beside  her  as  before. 
"Don't  you  know,  Joy,  you  belong  to  me,  and  we  are 
sweethearts?  There,  don't  struggle  and  twist,  and  stamp 
your  foot  like  a  little  wildcat;  just  listen  now." 

She  laughed  at  him  then,  but  stopped  struggling.  Al- 
though vexed,  she  could  not  help  responding  to  the  domi- 
nation he  had  always  exercised  over  her ;  but  after  a  bit 
she  grew  grave  and  then  gave  a  little,  gentle  sigh.  She 
was  thinking  of  the  difference  between  Jack  and  Mr.  Thorn, 
and  although  she  tried  in  her  loyal  heart  to  frame  excuses 
for  him,  the  comparison  was  not  good  for  the  man  at  her 
side.  Mark's  tacit  comprehension  of  her  moods  pleased 
her.  Jack  never  had  understood.  He  talked  on  and  on, 
telling  of  his  hopes  and  plans,  and  presently  she  laughed 
out  again. 

"What  are  you  laughing  at,  Joy?" 

"At  you." 

"Why,  what  have  I  said  now?"  he  asked]  indignantly. 

"You  said  a  minute  ago  that  I  stamped  my  foot  like  a 
wildcat.  Did  you  ever  see  one  that  stamped  its  foot,  and 
looked  like  a  little  goat,  and  a  canary  bird  in  a  cage  ?  You 
see  how  silly  you  are.  Then  you  say  I  'm  not  a  lady,  and 
now  you  say  we  are  sweethearts.  I  would  n't  have  such 
a  sweetheart,  if  I  were  you.  And  then  you  said  I  ought  to 
be  proud  of  you,  just  as  if  I  were  your  mother  and  had 
brought  you  up.  Aren't  you  silly?" 

"It's  your  own  fault,  Joy.  You  change  from  one  thing 
to  another,  like  the  witches  they  used  to  burn  in  the  old 


96  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

days.  Here  I  Ve  come  back  just  to  have  a  good  talk  with 
you,  and  you  find  fault  and  laugh  at  me." 

She  relented  a  little  at  his  injured  tone.  "Then  don't 
talk  about  being  sweethearts,  Jack,  and  I  '11  listen.  I  am 
glad  you  came  back,  most  of  all  for  your  father's  sake  and 
Nathanael's." 

"Seems  to  me  everything 's  Than  to-night.  Anybody  'd 
think  you  thought  the  world  'n  all  of  Than." 

"I  do.     Isn't  he  about  the  best  man  you  ever  knew?" 

"  See  here,  Joy,  has  Than  been  makin'  up  to  you  since  I  Ve 
been  gone?" 

"  You  must  n't  talk  that  way.     I  don't  like  it." 

He  dropped  her  hand  and  moved  away  from  her. 
"There,  go  your  own  way,  and  swing  your  arms,  if  you 
want  to." 

"I  don't.  I  want  to  walk  with  you  like  this."  She 
slipped  her  hand  again  through  his  arm.  "  But  you  must  n't 
talk  about  people  making  up  to  me.  It  doesn't  sound 
nice." 

"Now,  Joy,  here  we  are  at  your  home,  and  you  have  n't 
even  said  yet  that  you  think  I  have  done  well,  and  I  am 
doing  it  all  for  you.  You  are  to  be  my  little  wife,  Joy, 
and—" 

She  drew  quickly  away  again.  "Jack  !  I  Ve  never  said 
that  to  you,  and  you  know  it." 

"Ah,  but  you  will,  Joy?  I've  always  meant  that,  you 
know."  He  came  close  to  her  side  again  and  bent  over  her. 

"Oh,  Jack !  Let  things  be  in  the  old  way.  I  liked  it  a 
great  deal  better  so." 

"I  can't,  and  I  don't  like  it  better  so.  See  here.  I've 
got  to  go  away  in  a  week,  and  be  gone  a  long  time,  and  some 


MIXED   EMOTIONS  97 

one  may  come  and  take  you  away  from  me.  You  're  grow- 
ing up,  and  how  can  things  stay  as  they  were  ?" 

"I  shall  stay  right  here,  and  take  care  of  grandfather 
and  grandmother,  and  no  one  shall  take  me  away  from 
them,  not  even  you,  Jack." 

"But  you  do  love  me  —  now  don't  you,  Joy?" 

"Of  course  I  do,  but  I  don't  have  to  marry  every  one  I 
love." 

He  stooped  suddenly  and  kissed  her,  and  something  in 
his  manner  made  her  tremble.  She  darted  from  him 
through  the  gate,  and  shut  it  quickly  between  them. 

"Why,  what 's  the  matter,  Joy?"  He  reached  over  the 
little  wicket  barrier  and  held  her  there. 

"Jack  ! "  she  said,  in  a  low  voice,  "I  'm  not  ready  to  say, 
yet.  Let  me  go.  You  mustn't  do  this  way." 

"I  'm  coming  to  see  you  to-morrow,  Joy,  and  you  can  say 
it  then." 

"I  '11  not  say  it  —  not  for  years  —  not  to  any  one.  Let 
me  go,  Jack,  it 's  late,  and  —  and  —  you  must  n't  kiss  me 
again,  Jack,  that  way,  ever." 

"But  you  do  love  me,  Joy?"  he  still  pleaded. 

"Yes,  better,  more  'n  likely,  than  you  do  me,  if  there  were 
any  way  of  measuring  love,  so  that 's  all.  Now  let  me  go. 
Good  night." 

"Joy,  Joy.  Wait  a  minute.  Listen,"  he  cried,  as  she 
escaped  from  his  grasp  and  ran  up  the  path. 

"No,  no.    Not  now,  Jack.     Good  night." 

"Oh,  Joy  !  To-morrow,  then,  Joy."  But  she  was  gone, 
and  there  was  nothing  for  him  to  do  but  to  take  his  way 
home  in  the  darkness. 


CHAPTER  VI 

JOYFUL'S  LADYE  FAIRE 

"  A  lovely  ladie  rode  him  faire  beside, 
Upon  a  lowly  asse  more  white  than  snowe ; 
Yet  she  much  whiter ;  but  the  same  did  hide 
Under  a  vele,  that  wimpled  was  full  low." 

—  The  Faerie  Queene. 

THE  next  morning  was  sullen  and  cloudy,  but  the  weather 
had  no  effect  on  Joyf ul's  gay  spirits.  As  blithe  as  the  birds, 
she  sang  as  she  clattered  the  milk  pans,  and  chattered,  now 
to  her  grandmother  in  the  kitchen,  now  to  the  cat,  and  now 
to  the  hens  in  the  yard  that  threatened  to  scratch  out  all 
the  wild  things  in  the  small  corner  where  she  had  set  them. 

She  had  cried  a  little  the  night  before,  as  she  confided  to 
her  pillow  that  Jack  was  too  bad  to  spoil  all  their  good  times 
by  getting  such  silly  notions  in  his  head.  She  had  cried 
harder  still  when  she  thought  how  she  wished  her  mother 
was  there.  She  could  tell  her  all  about  it  —  she  could  n't 
tell  her  grandmother. 

But  this  morning  she  was  happy.  She  was  to  spend  the 
day  with  Elizabeth,  who  had  said  she  had  something  pleas- 
ant for  her  to  do,  so  she  gayly  sang,  and  hurried  about  her 
work,  so  as  to  walk  over  before  the  rain  began. 

"I  '11  be  back  before  dark,  grandmother,  so  don't  worry, 
and  don't  take  the  trouble  to  send  for  me." 

"Take  the  umbrel',  Joy,  'nd  wear  your  rubbers.  It  '11 
be  raining  by  evening,  more  'n  likely." 

98 


JOYFUL'S  LADYE  FAIRE  99 

As  Joyful  walked  through  the  woods  that  spring  morning, 
her  thoughts  recurred  to  her  companion  of  the  evening 
before.  "He  thinks  I  must  do  whatever  he  wants,  whether 
I  wish  it  or  not."  Then  she  laughed.  "He  may  stay  and 
visit  with  grandmother,  if  he  comes  to-day.  I  sha'n't 
stay  at  home  for  him.  He  may  hunt  me  up,  if  he  wants  to 
see  me  so  badly."  Then  she  wondered,  "What  would 
Elizabeth  say  if  she  knew  ! "  and  her  heart  gave  a  quick, 
uncertain  beat  at  the  thought  of  the  kiss  he  had  given  her. 

Elizabeth  was  scanning  a  magazine  of  the  fashions  to 
find  a  simple  and  becoming  style  in  which  to  shape  the 
pink  dimity  with  which  it  was  her  intention  to  adorn 
Joyful  for  him  she  believed  to  be  her  lover.  Her  self- 
sacrifice  was  to  be  absolute  and  loving,  and  when  she  heard 
the  gate  swing  to  with  a  sharp  click,  she  came  and  met  the 
child  halfway  down  the  path  and  took  her  into  her  large, 
whole-souled  embrace. 

"You  are  so  sweet  and  warm,  Ladye  Faire,"  said  Joyful, 
kissing  her,  and  at  the  same  moment  she  thought  again  of 
Jack's  kiss,  and  glanced  in  Elizabeth's  face  with  an  almost 
guilty  feeling.  Not  for  the  world  would  she  have  her 
know  what  Jack  had  said  and  done,  in  her  sweet,  innocent 
shame.  But  soon  the  reckless  Jack  was  forgotten,  and  she 
was  trying  on  the  pink  dimity,  and  gazing  with  delighted 
eyes  on  the  lace  and  ribbon  trimmed  muslin  that  was  to  be 
transformed  into  a  maidenly  gown  for  her  summer's  best. 

"Oh,  Ladye  Faire,  how  dear  you  are,  and  how  good  to 
me!" 

"You  can  do  most  of  the  work  on  these  yourself,  Joy. 
The  pink  one  needs  very  little  change.  Who  would  have 
thought  her  so  near  my  size,  mother?" 


ioo  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

"Thee  is  growing  a  great  girl,  Joyful,"  said  Mrs.  Drew. 
"Bring  me  the  white  one;  I  will  take  off  the  ribbon  for 
thee." 

So  the  two  women  shaped  and  cut,  and  Joyful  chattered 
and  sewed  industriously,  that  rainy  morning.  The  mild 
air  was  full  of  sweet  spring  odors,  and  they  sat  on  the  porch 
under  the  overhanging,  vine-covered  roof.  A  pair  of  blue- 
birds were  creating  their  summer  home  under  one  corner 
of  the  porch  eaves.  The  male,  in  his  bright  blue  coat, 
sat  on  the  tip  of  the  pear  tree  and  sang  about  it  joyously, 
while  his  plain  little  wife  did  the  work. 

Sometimes,  for  a  moment,  the  clouds  would  break,  and 
the  sunlight  stream  through  the  budding,  rain-jeweled 
vines,  scattering  splashes  of  gold  over  Elizabeth  and  Joyful, 
their  work,  and  the  porch  floor ;  then  again  the  world  would 
grow  dark  while  low  rumbles  of  thunder  jarred  the  earth 
with  mysterious  quakings.  During  one  of  these  threaten- 
ing moments,  just  as  a  heavy  dash  of  rain  began  pelting 
down,  Mark  Thorn  appeared  before  the  gate.  Elizabeth 
had  gone  within,  and  was  running  over  some  new  music, 
while  Joyful,  in  the  great  rocker  outside,  sat  with  hands 
clasped  behind  her  head,  listening. 

"Oh,  don't  go  by,  Mr.  Thorn,  come  in  out  of  the  rain," 
called  Joyful,  impulsively. 

"Thank  you,  I  will,  gladly  —  if  I  may."  He  swung 
rapidly  up  the  path  and  in  an  instant  was  under  the  shelter- 
ing roof,  shaking  the  raindrops  from  his  coat.  The  blue- 
birds dashed  out  from  the  eaves  with  frightened  whir  as 
he  loomed  up  tall  and  dark  beneath  them.  He  could  have 
placed  his  hand  in  the  nest  from  where  he  stood.  "Poor 
little  things.  Now  I  have  frightened  them,"  he  said, 


JOYFUL'S  LADYE  FAIRE  101 

placing  his  color  box  and  easel  back  against  the  wall  and 
dropping  into  a  chair. 

Elizabeth  came  out,  and  he  rose.  She  remembered  him, 
and  spoke  pleasantly.  At  the  instant  a  peal  of  thunder 
crashed  overhead,  and  the  rain  came  down  in  a  flood.  Then 
Mrs.  Drew's  voice  called  from  within,  "Wouldn't  thee 
better  all  sit  inside,  daughter?  It  will  be  chilly  there." 
And  thus  was  Mark  Thorn  introduced  into  that  peaceful 
house. 

After  that  the  clouds  closed  down  heavily,  and  the  steady 
rainfall  held  him  a  glad  prisoner.  They  could  not  do  other 
than  urge  him  to  remain  to  the  noon  meal,  and  although 
he  protested  a  spring  drenching  would  do  him  no  harm,  he 
could  do  no  other  than  to  accept  and  partake  with  pleased 
complaisance. 

Mrs.  Drew  was  one  of  those  flowerlike  elderly  women 
whom  young  men  always  admire,  to  whom  they  love  to 
pay  their  homage.  With  gentle  deference  he  showed  her 
the  few  sketches  he  had  in  his  box,  and  he  talked  of  art 
and  artists,  of  music  and  musicians,  while  Elizabeth,  with 
cheerful  composure,  continued  her  loving  labor,  cutting  and 
planning,  joining  now  and  then  in  the  conversation;  and 
Joyful,  listening  with  wide  eyes  and  parted  lips,  silently 
sewed  on.  Again  the  world  seemed  to  her  awakening  soul 
to  be  growing  larger,  and  her  horizon  line  wider  and  farther 
away. 

Often  had  she  listened  to  the  chat  of  Mrs.  Drew  and 
Elizabeth,  but  to-day  a  new  element  was  introduced. 
Mark  Thorn  had  come  to  them  with  news  of  men  and 
women  of  his  world,  men  and  women  who  were  living  and 
working,  and  helping  to  mold  the  taste  and  sentiment  of 


io2  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

the  day  in  art  and  letters.  He  had  quaint  tales  to  tell  of 
these  —  intimate  tales  of  their  ways,  their  eccentricities  and 
humors. 

Joyful's  lore  was  all  of  the  past,  gathered  from  the  books 
stored  in  that  closet  in  her  grandfather's  cottage.  She  had 
a  host  of  friends  and  acquaintances,  all  shadowy  spirits 
who  had  lived  first  in  the  brains  of  poets  and  romancers  of 
a  bygone  time,  but  very  real  to  her.  She  held  the  creators 
of  these  beings  in  holy  reverence,  never  dreaming  that 
their  like  existed  at  the  present  day.  Elizabeth  had  told 
her  of  Wagner  and  the  German  folklore  he  had  embodied 
in  his  music.  The  tales  of  the  "  Nibelungenlied "  and 
"Tannhauser"  she  knew  well,  and  had  taken  the  myths 
into  her  romantic  little  soul,  having  her  own  personal  loves 
among  them ;  though  not  of  this  world,  nor  of  the  present 
day,  they  lived  in  her  guileless  heart  and  brain.  The 
"Gentle  Knight"  and  "Ladye  Faire"  of  Spenser's  "Faerie 
Queene"  and  Chaucer's  "Pilgrims"  were  her  friends,  and 
the  little  "Sisterkin"  and  "Gold  Green  Snakes"  of  Jean 
Paul  Richter,  she  saw  them  in  the  sunset-gleaming  ripples 
round  her  grandfather's  boat,  or  in  the  long  moonlit  path 
on  the  sea  on  a  calm  summer  evening.  Oh,  yes.  She  knew 
them  all.  She  had  read  of  "Undine"  and  "Graziella"  in 
her  mother's  subtle  French  tongue. 

Of  the  world's  sin  and  suffering  she  had  a  strange,  un- 
worldly knowledge,  and  her  spiritual  high  lights  were  so 
pure  and  clear  they  would  have  dazzled  into  blindness  the 
conventional,  near-sighted  vision  of  ordinarily  fed,  starve- 
ling mortals,  started  in  life  from  the  public  schools  of  our 
land.  They  might  repeat  the  names  of  all  the  deities  of 
the  Norsemen,  or  the  Greeks  and  Egyptians,  a  meaningless 


JOYFUL'S  LADYE  FAIRE  103 

list,  drearily  droned  over,  but  could  they  have  looked  on 
the  furnishings  of  JoyfuTs  mind,  they  would  have  found 
these  beings  seated  on  thrones  of  light,  or  riding  the  clouds 
at  sunset,  or  driving  before  the  blast  on  a  winter's  night. 

Now,  listening  this  rainy  day  with  eager  interest  to  Mark 
Thorn's  easy  flow  of  talk,  the  modern  and  the  old  began  to 
mix,  in  her  half  child's,  half  woman's  consciousness,  in  a 
vague  jumble  of  ideas,  wherein  the  realities  of  the  present 
seemed  as  visions  which  another  day's  experiences  might 
sweep  away,  while  the  unrealities  of  her  childish  thoughts 
were  the  very  foundation  of  things  to  her,  on  which  she 
was  building  her  present. 

Elizabeth's  musical  advantages  had  been  of  the  best,  yet 
she  had  withal  a  quaint  way  of  rendering  simple  things  quite 
personal  to  herself.  Mark  soon  discovered  this  unique 
charm,  and  led  her  on  to  play  for  him,  with  unconcealed 
delight. 

"I  'm  glad,"  he  said,  "  that  your  German  education  has  n't 
made  you  Germanesque.  You  treat  your  instrument  as 
if  it  were  a  sentient  being." 

Elizabeth  smiled.  "I  always  do  have  that  feeling,  as 
if  my  piano  were  a  creature  that  could  suffer  or  be  responsive 
to  moods,  and  almost  forget  that  it 's  a  mere  piece  of 
mechanism." 

Joyful  had  been  so  silent,  in  her  corner  by  the  window, 
that  they  had  ceased  to  be  aware  of  her  presence.  Now  she 
laughed  out  with  a  merry  note  that  made  them  all  smile. 

"What  is  thee  laughing  at,  child?  Tell  thy  thoughts," 
said  Mrs.  Drew. 

"I  was  thinking  how  easy  it  would  be  for  Ladye  Faire 
to  become  an  old  heathen." 


104  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

"How  so?"  said  Elizabeth,  taking  her  work  from  her. 
"Come,  to  pay  for  that  you  must  recite  to  us.  An  old 
heathen,  indeed !  Joyful  recites  French  very  prettily," 
she  added,  turning  to  Mark. 

"Do,  Miss  Joyful,  but  explain  first,  how  would  your 
friend  be  an  old  heathen?" 

"I  mean  she  could  be.  Did  n't  they  make  statues  and 
build  shrines,  and  then  think  those  stone  things  were 
spirits,  or  had  spirits  in  them,  and  worship  them  ?  Ladye 
Faire  thinks  her  piano  has  a  soul  in  it.  I  can  imagine  her 
kneeling  and  holding  her  hands  up  this  way  before  it  as  the 
peasants  do  before  the  shrines  of  the  Blessed  Virgin  in 
France." 

"You  naughty  girl,"  said  Elizabeth,  laughing.  "What 
do  you  know  about  them  ?" 

"I  have  pictures  of  them  in  my  books,  that  mother  used 
to  tell  me  about.  Mr.  Thorn,  you  said  yesterday  you  'd  let 
me  see  you  work  sometime.  Won't  you  make  a  picture 
of  Elizabeth,  while  I  look  on?  Your  paints  are  here;  I 
saw  them  when  you  opened  your  box." 

"Gladly  I  will."  He  turned  to  Elizabeth.  "I  promised 
Miss  Joyful  she  might  see  me  lay  in  a  head  sometime.  Do 
you  mind?  We  may  not  have  a  better  chance,  and  the 
light  is  good." 

"I  have  no  objection,  certainly  —  only  I  would  prefer 
you  made  mother  your  model,  so  I  could  watch  you,  too." 

"I  '11  tell  you  what  I  'd  do  if  I  were  an  artist,  Mr.  Thorn. 
I  'd  make  Elizabeth  all  in  a  white  robe,  simply  dressed,  like 
the  lovely  'Ladye  Faire'  who  rode  on  a  white  palfrey  with 
the  'Gentle  Knight'  who  was  pricking  o'er  the  plain." 
They  all  laughed.  "I  don't  see  anything  funny  in  that." 


JOYFUL'S  LADYE  FAIRE  105 

"There  isn't,  Miss  Joyful;  but  who  was  your  lovely 
ladye?" 

"She  means  the  Lady  Una  in  Spenser's  'Faerie  Queene.' 
She  has  a  silly  way  of  calling  me  that."  Elizabeth  stroked 
Joyful's  hair  lovingly.  "Come,  child  —  come,  recite 
'L'Hirondelle'  for  us,  while  Mr.  Thorn  gets  his  things 
ready." 

"I  know  your  lovely  'Ladye  Faire'  on  the  white  palfrey 
now,  Miss  Joyful,  only  for  a  moment  I  did  not  think  of  her. 
See,  while  I  take  out  my  colors,  you  repeat  the  poem,  and 
then  you  may  have  all  the  say  about  this  picture.  I  '11 
make  it  just  as  you  wish  it,  if  Miss  Drew  will  be  patient 
with  us." 

"Oh,  she  will,"  said  Joyful,  with  confidence.  Then  she 
repeated  with  a  delightful  accent  the  little  poem  in  French 
which  Elizabeth  had  asked  for. 

Mark  smiled  as  he  thought  how  completely  he  had  for- 
gotten he  was  in  an  isolated  little  New  England  village 
several  miles  from  any  railroad  and  from  all  city  advantage. 
Here,  where  farming  and  fishing  were  the  only  occupations, 
combined  with  storekeeping  and  exceedingly  primitive 
carpentering,  enough  to  supply  the  limited  needs  of  the 
place,  the  atmosphere  of  this  home  seemed  for  the  moment 
quite  incongruous,  as  he  listened  to  the  little  maid  recite 
her  French,  and  felt  the  inspiration  of  Elizabeth's  music 
and  the  charm  of  Mrs.  Drew's  high-bred  voice  and  man- 
ner. They  seemed  like  stars  shot  out  of  another  sphere 
into  a  queer  little  drowsy,  workaday,  gossiping  world. 
As  he  thought  of  this,  only  Nathanael  alone  seemed  to  stand 
out  from  among  the  rest  as  kindred  in  spirit  to  these,  he 
and  grandfather  and  grandmother  Heatherby. 


io6  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

Thus,  as  Mark  worked,  his  mind  was  busied  with  other 
matters  than  his  paints  and  brushes,  vaguely  wondering 
what  Joyful  was  destined  to  become.  If  these  should  be 
taken  from  her,  what  would  the  child  do,  doubly  isolated, 
both  by  her  nature  and  rearing  from  those  around  her? 
What  did  she  do  in  the  long  New  England  winters  with  only 
those  two  old  people,  when  Elizabeth  and  her  mother  were 
not  there  ?  To  be  sure,  he  had  seen  her  singing  in  the  choir 
of  the  little  church  —  there  might  be  others  who  were 
interested  in  her ;  but  his  moment's  speech  with  the  rector 
and  his  wife  had  shown  him  that  their  interest  would  be  of 
the  most  perfunctory  and  conventional  sort.  He  was  cer- 
tain they  would  have  as  little  comprehension  of  the  child's 
nature  as  would  the  church  steeple.  And  Mark,  in  his 
genuine,  kindly  sympathy  was  right.  Although  Joyful, 
with  her  imaginative  mind,  was  never  lonely,  even  when 
most  alone,  yet,  were  she  thrown  out  of  her  safe  little 
anchorage  here,  as  she  must  inevitably  be  sometime,  what 
would  the  cruel  old  world  do  with  her,  or  rather,  what  would 
she  do  with  it? 

Mark  remembered  the  tearful  glance  she  threw  at  her 
old  grandfather,  when  they  sat  hi  the  boat,  as  she  spoke  of 
wishing  to  do  something  real,  something  that  would  last. 
Could  it  be  that  premonitions  of  the  future  were  already 
troubling  her? 

"Now,  Miss  Joyful  —  "  he  said,  holding  his  sketch  block 
at  arm's  length.  "Come  here  and  show  me  how  you  want 
this."  He  glanced  at  Elizabeth,  as  she  sat  before  the  piano. 

"Oh,  but  I  wouldn't  like  this  dark  dress,  would  you? 
I  think  she  was  dressed  all  in  white  tinder  her  mantle,  and 
a  long  sleeve  hanging  down." 


JOYFUL'S  LADYE  FAIRE  107 

"No  doubt  you  are  right,  Miss  Joyful." 

Elizabeth  laughed.  "You  shall  have  anything  you  like, 
child.  You  Ve  worked  steadily  enough;  we  '11  put  the  sew- 
ing all  by  and  play  awhile.  What  shall  I  put  on  ?  " 

Joyful  clasped  her  hands  rapturously.  "Oh,  put  on  the 
white  tableau  dress  you  wore  hi  the  pictures  for  the 
Church.  You  know  — 

So  Elizabeth  obediently  went  and  returned  in  the  "white 
tableau  dress, "  as  Joyful  called  it,  and  Mark  was  satisfied. 
She  looked,  indeed,  a  veritable  "Una,"  such  as  might  that 
moment  have  stepped,  in  red  and  white  English  beauty, 
from  the  old  poet's  brain. 

"Look,  Mr.  Thorn,  I  said  she  was  the  'Ladye  Faire,' " 
cried  the  child. 

"Joyful  has  a  definite  picture  of  every  one  of  her  heroes 
and  heroines.  I  warn  you,  she  will  be  a  hard  taskmistress. 
Now,  how  shall  I  sit;  this  way  ?" 

"Oh,  no.  She  must  sit  sideways,  so  we  can  see  her  hair, 
with  that  twisty  way  it  has,  and  look  down  —  but  —  Oh, 
dear!" 

"Why,  that's  all  right,  certainly,  side  view,  and  looking 
down;  what's  the  trouble?  Why  the  'Oh,  dear'?" 

"Why,  Una  had  something  all  over  her,  a  'Vele  that 
wimpled  was  full  low.'  We  can't  paint  her  that  way.  We 
can  see  under  the  veil  and  how  fair  she  was,  in  thinking,  but 
we  can't  paint  under  it." 

"Why  need  we ?"  said  Mark,  greatly  amused.  "We  can 
get  around  that,  —  pretend  she  had  thrown  it  back  because 
it  was  so  warm,  while  the  'Gentle  Knight'  was  riding  on 
before,  and  did  n't  see  her." 

"Ah,  yes,"  said  Joyful,  delightedly,  "and  it  would  float 


io8  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

out  in  the  breeze,  and  all  her  hair  would  show.  Is  n't  her 
hair  very  beautiful,  Mr.  Thorn?" 

Elizabeth  reddened.  "You  mustn't  make  any  com- 
ments, Joyful,  or  I  sha'  n't  sit  for  you.  That 's  not  fair." 

"Indeed,  you  're  right.  My  brush  can  never  do  it  justice, 
Miss  Joyful.  Now  look.  We  '11  take  just  the  head,  so. 
Is  that  what  you  wish  ?" 

"Yes.  You  wouldn't  have  room  for  a  palfrey  on  that 
small  block.  Oh  !  Is  that  the  way  you  do  it?"  she  cried, 
catching  her  breath  in  dismay,  as  she  saw  him  lay  on  large 
masses  of  color  with  a  free  hand.  She  feared  lest  he  spoil 
it  in  the  very  beginning. 

"Don't  be  afraid.  I'm  not  going  to  leave  it  this  way. 
Just  be  patient,  and  watch." 

That  was  a  happy  day  for  the  little  maid.  She  could  not 
remember  when  she  had  been  so  happy. 

Mark  worked  with  earnest  gravity.  He  was  pleased 
both  with  his  model  and  his  mood,  and  the  rare  good 
fortune  that  had  brought  him  this  opportunity ;  and  when 
the  clouds  scattered,  revealing  a  glorious  sunset,  he  had 
before  him  a  sketch  which  appeared  to  him  almost  inspira- 
tional. As  he  stepped  back  at  last  and  looked  at  it,  he 
realized  that  he  had  excelled  himself  at  his  best,  and  he  felt 
a  reverence  both  for  his  model  and  his  work.  The  lines 
of  his  face  settled  into  a  seriousness  that  was  almost  stern, 
but  he  said  nothing.  Elizabeth  rose  and  came  to  his  side. 
"May  I  see  it  now?"  she  asked. 

Mark's  face  relaxed  into  a  smile.  "I  beg  your  pardon. 
I  had  forgotten  that  any  one  might  be  interested  in  this 
besides  myself,  Miss  Drew  —  That  is,  well,  we  artists  are 
an  audacious  set  of  fellows;  we  have  to  be,  to  succeed; 


JOYFUL'S  LADYE  FAIRE 

and  now,  I  have  a  favor  to  ask  of  you,  almost  as  soon  as  we 
have  met." 

"Certainly,  Mr.  Thorn;   what  is  it?" 

"This  picture,  that  was  begun  in  a  moment  of  pastime, 
I  wish  to  take  in  earnest.  I  've  been  searching  for  just  this 
type  of  head  for  a  year.  It  is  a  mural  painting  for  a  music 
hall,  of  the  symbolic  order,  and  in  the  classic  style,  and  it 
has  been  at  a  standstill  for  months,  waiting  for  me  to  find 
the  model  and  be  in  the  mood  to  finish  the  work.  This 
head,  why,  it's  absolutely — " 

"Oh,  Mr.  Thorn!  How  can  you  possibly  use  my  tip- 
tilted  nose  in  a  classic?" 

"That's  nothing.  What  is  the  tip  of  a  nose,  more  or 
less  ?  See  here,"  he  seized  his  brush  and  bent  to  the  work 
again.  Joyful  sprang  forward  and  caught  his  arm. 

"Don't  touch  it,  please,  Mr.  Thorn.  Mrs.  Drew, 
mustn't  he  leave  it  as  it  is?" 

"Why,  that 's  so.  This  is  your  picture,  after  all.  It  was 
promised  to  you." 

"Thee  is  too  impulsive,  Joyful,"  said  Mrs.  Drew,  quietly. 

"Of  course  I'm  only  asking  to  be  allowed  to  use  this 
head  as  a  study.  The  likeness  may  be  disguised  in  the  larger 
picture,  if  you  so  wish,  Miss  Drew ;  and  then,  Miss  Joyful, 
I  will  return  the  drawing  to  you  as  it  is,  untouched." 

The  girl  stood  back,  abashed  by  her  own  rashness,  and 
Mrs.  Drew's  rebuke.  Her  eyes  glistened  with  a  suspicion 
of  tears  held  back,  as  she  looked  up  at  Mark.  "I  'm  sorry," 
she  said;  "but  don't  you  think  the  lady  on  the  white  palfrey 
may  have  had  a  nose  that  turned  up  a  little  bit  like  that  ? 
She  was  English,  you  know,  and  English  girls'  noses  are  n't 
all  straight  like  a  Greek  statue's." 


no  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

They  all  laughed  merrily,  while  one  little  tear  escaped 
from  Joyful's  drooping  lashes.  Mrs.  Drew  reached  out 
and  patted  the  child's  hand. 

"  Don't  worry  thyself,  dear.  Thee  has  done  no  harm,  and 
after  all  the  picture  is  thine,  and  the  day  may  come  when 
it  will  be  thy  greatest  possession;  thee  cannot  tell.  Mr. 
Thorn  may  yet  become  one  of  the  world's  wonderful  artists, 
such  as  he  was  telling  us  of  at  dinner." 

"Oh,  I  think  he  is  now  —  or  he  never  could  have  done 
this,"  she  cried  joyfully.  She  turned  and  raised  her 
eyes  to  his.  "Could  you,  Mr.  Thorn?" 

Mark  could  not  answer  lightly  under  the  weight  of  that 
look.  "  No  artist  is  great  or  wonderful  in  himself  alone,  Miss 
Joyful.  They  all  need  help,  even  the  greatest.  You  re- 
member what  I  told  you  yesterday  ?  They  must  have  ideals. 
To-day  you  helped  me  to  my  ideal,  and  this  is  what  I  have 
done.  You  and  Miss  Drew  both  have  a  share  in  this." 

"It  wasn't  the  same  as  when  you  were  making  that  head 
in  your  notebook  —  I  mean  the  one  we  were  talking  about 
in  the  boat.  You  did  n't  look  that  way  when  you  were 
making  this." 

"No?    How  do  you  know?    But  never  mind." 

Mark's  thoughts  suddenly  reverted  to  Louise.  Would 
she  call  this  trifling?  Ah,  he  would  finish  that  mural 
painting  and  make  it  rival  the  Chavannes  in  the  Boston 
Library.  Louise  should  be  pleased  at  last.  She  should 
be  made  to  look  into  his  face  with  her  soul  in  her  splendid 
eyes.  But  in  the  meantime  he  must  gather  up  his  materials, 
and  take  his  departure  in  all  courtesy  to  his  hostess,  which 
he  did,  promising  to  return  soon,  and  show  Mrs.  Drew  his 
sketches  about  the  countryside. 


JOYFUL'S   LAD  YE   FAIRE  in 

As  he  turned  toward  his  boarding  house  he  saw  Jack 
Stoddard  sauntering  in  his  direction,  and  took  note  of  the 
handsome  fellow,  wondering  whither  his  steps  were  taking 
him.  Somehow  he  vaguely  hoped  if  Jack  were  going  to 
the  Drews',  that  Joyful  might  be  well  on  her  way  home. 
Yet  why  should  he  care?  If  Jack  really  loved  the  child, 
might  it  not  be  a  solution  of  the  quandary  as  to  what  was 
to  befall  her?  His  glance  into  the  young  man's  face,  as 
they  passed  each  other,  was  keen ;  and  he  walked  on  with 
a  slight  sense  of  dissatisfaction.  The  words  he  had  over- 
heard Joyful  utter  came  back  to  him,  "And  I  think  it  was 
noble  in  him."  Of  course,  well  dressed  and  debonair  as 
he  seemed,  he  might  also  be  of  a  generous  nature. 

Mark  smiled  as  he  swung  along,  thinking  of  his  proneness 
to  dramatize  the  lives  of  all  he  met.  Here  were  Nathanael 
and  Elizabeth,  and  Jack  and  Joyful,  already  taking  their 
places,  an  integral  part  of  the  drama  wherein  he  was  shap- 
ing their  destinies  to  suit  himself.  Should  he  have  Jack 
overtake  Joyful  on  her  way  home,  and  if  so  what  would  he 
have  her  do?  Should  he  have  his  own  entrance  into  her 
small  world  influence  her  whole  life,  awaken  her  dreaming 
soul,  and  teach  her  how  vast  is  the  world,  and  how  small 
is  her  Jack  as  a  part  of  it? 

Jane  was  laying  the  cloth  for  supper  at  the  boarding  house, 
and  singing  shrilly  as  she  worked.  Every  now  and  then 
she  slipped  through  the  hall  to  the  front  door,  to  see  whether 
the  large-nosed  young  man  might  be  passing,  and  inciden- 
tally to  look  whether  the  artist  might  be  returning.  She 
wondered  where  he  had  been  all  day.  He  surely  must  have 
gone  in  somewhere ;  he  could  n't  have  stayed  out  in  all  that 
pouring  rain.  No.  There  he  was  coming,  and  as  dry  as  if 


ii2  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

he  had  been  in  her  mother's  kitchen.  She  simpered  a  little, 
as  she  stood  aside  for  him  to  pass. 

"Been  sketchin'?" 

"I  have  been  working  a  little,  yes." 

"Well,  you  must  'a  found  it  pretty  wet  —  such  a  pourin' 
rain  's  we've  had." 

"It  has  been  raining  a  good  deal,"  he  said,  in  an  absent 
way,  as  he  mounted  the  stairs. 

"You  seem  to  've  kept  dry,  though.  How  'd  you  manage 
'thout  an  umbrel'?" 

"Dry?  Yes,  I  am  dry,  that's  a  fact.  Oh,  I  always 
manage  to  keep  dry  in  the  rain."  As  he  closed  the  door 
at  the  top  of  the  stair  carefully  after  him,  a  little  smile 
curled  his  lip.  "How  on  earth  did  the  two  ever  grow  up 
within  a  league  of  each  other?"  he  thought. 


CHAPTER  VII 

IN  THE  BARN   STUDIO 

"  And  ever  when  he  came  in  companie 
Where  Calidore  was  present,  he  would  lore 
And  byte  his  lip,  and  even  for  gealousie 
Was  readie  oft  his  owne  hart  to  devoure, 
Impatient  of  any  paramoure  : 
Who  on  the  other  side  did  seeme  so  farre 
From  malicing,  or  gruding  his  good  houre, 
That  all  he  could,  he  graced  him  with  her, 
Ne  ever  shewed  signe  of  rancour  or  of  iarre." 

THE  storm  that  had  driven  Mark  to  take  shelter  in  Mrs. 
Drew's  cottage  was  the  precursor  of  a  week  of  rain  which 
threatened  to  keep  him  immured  in  the  boarding  house. 
After  a  day  of  such  confinement  he  fled,  and  bethinking 
himself  of  Nathanael's  invitation  to  call,  he  donned  a  slouch 
hat  and  mackintosh,  and  walked  out  in  the  steady  drizzle 
which  had  kept  up  since  the  evening  before. 

Arrived  at  the  white  picket  fence  which  separated  the 
surrounding  farm  lands  from  the  small  front  yard,  he  spied 
Nathanael  standing  in  the  barn  door,  looking  out  over  the 
fields.  Mark  passed  by  the  house,  which  had  a  singularly 
shut-up  and  forbidding  appearance,  and  joined  him. 

"  Good  morning,"  he  said.  "  I  thought  you  might  be  kept 
idle  as  well  as  I.  This  is  abominable  weather  for  me; 
how  is  it  for  you  ?  "  He  would  have  offered  his  hand,  but 
as  the  young  man  made  no  movement  of  the  sort,  he  merely 

"3 


ii4  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

stepped  under  cover  from  the  rain  and  accepted  the  light- 
ing up  of  Nathanael's  face  at  the  sound  of  his  voice  as  suffi- 
cient evidence  of  a  welcome. 

"Very  good.  This  weather  's  just  what  I  need  now ;  the 
soil  of  these  stone  piles  is  poor  enough,  without  lacking  rain. 
Won't  you  come  into  the  house?"  He  spoke  pleasantly, 
but  a  bit  heavily,  Mark  thought. 

"No,  no.  I  only  came  for  a  little  call  on  you.  I've 
listened  to  Jane  Somers'  piano  until  I  felt  the  need  of  flying  to 
the  companionship  of  some  man  who  would  allow  me  to  give 
vent  to  my  feelings.  Would  you  have  any  objection  to  my  sit- 
ting on  this  box  and  swearing  a  little  —  mildly,  you  know  ?  " 

Nathanael  laughed  outright.  "Would  you  mind  my  sit- 
ting here  on  this  oat  bin  and  listening  to  you  ?  I  somehow 
feel  as  if  a  few  large,  round  oaths  would  do  me  good." 

"  Why,  what 's  the  matter  ?  I  'm  the  one  who  's  in  trouble. 
I  've  come  here  for  work,  and  when  the  weather  fails  me,  I 
find  myself  shut  up  in  an  environment  that  would  kill  any 
ordinary  artist.  If  I  had  n't  schooled  myself  to  paint  in  the 
presence  of  howling  dervishes,  I  'd  have  —  He  paused 
and  looked  about  him,  up  at  the  cobwebbed  rafters,  and 
then  at  the  loft  —  now  empty  for  the  most  part  of  its  winter 
store  of  hay — and  then  at  the  great  round  window  in  the 
gable  which  let  in  a  stream  of  light. 

"Paint  here,"  cried  Nathanael,  catching  at  his  thought. 

"Man  alive,  do  you  mean  it?  That's  the  thing."  He 
seized  the  young  man  by  the  shoulders  and  shook  him 
vigorously.  "Do  you  mean  it,  that  I  may  monopolize  this 
loft  for  awhile?" 

"Why  should  n't  I  mean  it,  if  it  will  serve  your  purpose  ?  " 

"Certainly  it  will,  and  it  may  save  my  summer  for  me. 


IN  THE  BARN  STUDIO  115 

At  least  it  will  save  me  from  being  driven  out  of  Woodbury 
Center  for  a  while." 

So  Mark  was  installed  in  the  Stoddard  barn,  and  there, 
with  his  traveling  equipment,  and  a  few  hangings  sent  from 
his  city  rooms,  and  a  few  pieces  of  rag  carpeting  which 
Nathanael  brought  out  from  the  house  thrown  over  the  loose 
boards  of  the  floor  and  the  hay  in  the  corner,  he  worked, 
fitfully,  and  yet  earnestly. 

Sometimes  Nathanael  lay  stretched  on  the  hay,  with  his 
hands  locked  behind  his  head,  watching  him.  Sometimes 
they  chatted  together  in  a  desultory  way,  and  gradually 
they  learned  to  know  each  other  with  a  quiet,  unob- 
trusive knowledge  each  of  the  other's  affairs  and  tastes  and 
whims  and  moods,  in  the  tolerant,  kindly  manner  which 
young  men  like.  Mark  never  felt  his  moods  for  work  dis- 
sipated by  the  other's  presence ;  he  rather  liked  it,  indeed. 
It  seemed  to  sanction  only  his  best  endeavor,  as  if  with 
subtle  intuition  the  young  man  knew  when  to  keep  still 
and  when  to  speak.  He  liked  the  quaint  goodness  of  the 
man,  and  the  naive  originality  of  thought  which  saved  his 
provincialism  from  making  him  common.  He  was  so 
different  in  type  from  Mark's  usual  companions  of  the  brush, 
as  to  be  for  him,  for  the  nonce,  a  sort  of  inspiration. 

One  day,  as  Nathanael  lay  back  in  his  usual  attitude 
staring  at  the  rafters,  Mark  placed  Elizabeth's  picture  on 
his  easel,  and  walked  slowly  backward,  studying  it,  and 
whistling  his  customary  meditative  notes.  Suddenly  he 
turned  to  Nathanael,  and  asked,  — 

"Do  you  recognize  this?" 

The  young  man  rose,  stretched  himself,  and  moved 
deliberately  around  in  front  of  the  easel.  Instantly  a 


n6  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

pallor  overspread  his  face,  and  his  hands  clinched  until  the 
knuckles  showed  white.  He  drew  in  his  breath  slowly, 
but  did  not  speak. 

Mark  was  not  looking  at  him.  "Don't  you  recognize 
it?"  he  asked  again. 

"Yes,"  said  Nathanael,  dryly. 

"Do  you  like  it?"  he  went  on,  his  head  on  one  side,  and 
his  eyes  screwed  into  a  squint  of  calculating  scrutiny.  He 
was  planning  what  changes  would  be  needed  for  his  mural 
painting.  Suddenly,  aroused  by  his  companion's  silence, 
he  turned  on  him. 

"See  here,  old  boy,"  he  said  gently,  taking  him  by  the 
shoulder,  "turn  round  here  and  look  at  me."  But  Na- 
thanael only  gazed  off  out  of  the  window  at  a  pile  of  drifting 
white  cloud.  "Come,"  said  Mark  again,  in  a  low  voice, 
"I  thought  we  were  friends.  Look,  and  tell  me  if  you  see 
any  mud  in  my  eye." 

Then  Nathanael  turned  his  large,  blue-eyed  gaze  full  upon 
Mark's  warm  hazel  eyes  and  his  hand  sought  Mark's.  His 
lips  moved,  but  he  said  nothing,  and  walking  away  he  threw 
himself  heavily  again  on  his  couch  of  carpet-covered  hay, 
with  his  face  to  the  wall.  Mark  removed  the  head  from 
the  easel,  and  taking  up  a  painting  of  the  sea  began  working 
on  the  foreground  of  wave-scalloped  beach.  Presently  he 
threw  down  his  brushes  and,  crossing  to  where  Nathanael 
lay,  sat  beside  him,  clasping  his  knees  with  his  arms,  and 
continuing  to  whistle  his  low  soft  whistle. 

"I'd  like  to  tell  you  something,"  he  said,  at  last,  " — some- 
thing I  don't  talk  about  much."  The  young  man  turned 
and  gazed  at  him  again,  lying  with  his  head  raised  and  rest- 
ing in  his  clasped  hands. 


IN  THE  BARN  STUDIO  117 

"Don't  trouble,"  he  said  huskily.  "I'm  a  bit  daft,  I 
guess.  You  have  a  right  to  go  where  you  please  —  paint 
whom  you  please  —  and  —  It  was  a  kind  of  shock  to 
me  for  a  moment,  that's  all." 

"Then  you  don't  care  to  hear  what  I  have  to  say?" 

"Why,  certainly,  if  you  care  to  say  it.  I  only  did  n't 
wish  to  be  misunderstood,  nor  to  hear  any  excuses." 

"Man  !  I  make  excuses  for  painting  a  beautiful  woman 
whenever  I  get  the  chance?  Never!"  Nathanael's  lips 
closed  in  a  grim,  straight  line,  and  he  waited.  "It's  just 
this.  You  're  not  the  only  man  who  supposes  himself  in  love 
with  a  woman.  I  am,  myself.  Every  man  is,  who  's  good 
for  anything.  I  happen  to  be  in  love  with  a  glorious 
creature  —  I  'm  working  hard  to  win  her,  and  for  that  reason, 
you  see,  I  'm  not  likely  to  be  trying  to  win  any  other  man's 
love  away  from  him."  He  gave  a  little  laugh,  and  looked 
in  his  companion's  face,  which  relaxed  a  bit,  as  he  replied,  — 

"No.     You  're  not  in  love." 

"How  so?" 

"You  may  imagine  you  are,  but  if  you  were,  you  'd  never 
call  her  a  '  glorious  creature '  as  if  she  were  your  filly.  That 's 
not  love,  according  to  my  definition." 

"You  're  a  suspicious  old  duffer  —  a  proud  old  stickler  of 
a  Puritan.  Not  willing  I  should  call  my  lady  a  glorious 
creature?  What  do  you  call  yours?" 

"I  don't  even  venture  to  call  her  mine." 

"Man!    What  do  you  do?" 

"I  treat  her  with  the  courtesy  I  give  all  women.  I  don't 
even  allow  her  to  think  I  am  profane  enough  to  love  her ; 
but  you  —  you  sail  in  and  paint  her  portrait  —  she,  whom 
I  love  better  than  my  life  —  you  —  you  would — " 


n8  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

"Goon.    Say  it  all." 

"You  would  call  her  a  creature,  as  I  would  speak  of  my 
horse  —  you  would  - 

"Go  on,  go  on,  I  say.    This  is  what  I  like." 

"Then  I  will  go  on,"  said  Nathanael,  savagely.  "You 
would  win  in  a  day  what  I  have  waited  years  for  —  in 
a  day  you  have  it,  with  your  knowledge  of  the  world  and 
the  tricks  of  society.  You  —  to  think  she  could  let  you  do 
that !  You  see  what  I  am  —  a  duffer,  as  you  said  —  a  farm 
hand,  standing  with  gaping  eyes  and  mouth,  aloof,  while  you 
drop  in  my  path  and  take  all — all  —  the  smiles,  the  pleasant 
companionship.  Go  ahead  !  You  have  the  right  to  all  you 
can  get.  I  have  my  own  life  to  live,  and  live  it  I  must,  if 
I  die  in  this  hole  like  a  rat."  He  lifted  his  tall  length  from 
the  floor,  and  began  pacing  about  the  loft.  "Where  did 
you  put  it?"  he  said,  at  last.  "I  want  to  see  it  again." 

Mark  rose,  and  pulling  the  picture  out  from  among  a  heap 
of  sketches,  placed  it  once  more  before  him.  Then  he 
walked  back  and  stood  with  his  arm  across  Nathanael's 
shoulder.  "Look  at  it,  man,  —  regard  it  well,  and  then  tell 
me  if  you  think  I  have  profaned  your  love  by  painting  it." 

Nathanael  mopped  his  brow  with  his  handkerchief  and 
wiped  his  dry  lips.  Then  he  took  hold  of  the  hand  resting 
on  his  shoulder,  and  held  it  there.  Mark's  camaraderie, 
a  thing  he  had  never  had  before,  and  his  genial  kindliness 
were  thawing  a  way  through  the  ice  crust  which  encased 
his  New  England  heart. 

"The  man  who  could  paint  that  deserves  anything,"  he 
said,  at  last ;  and  Mark  felt  a  tremor  pass  through  the  strong 
shoulders.  "That 's  it.  A  man  of  ability,  who  has  seen  the 
world  and  had  the  finish  —  the  polish  —  the  subtle  fineness 


IN  THE  BARN  STUDIO  119 

that  comes  from  intimacy  with  women  or  the  best  of  his 
own  kind.  Do  you  think  I  can't  see  the  difference,  or  would 
expect  a  woman  like  that  to  look  at  me  —  in  the  way  a  man 
wants  ?  "  His  sensitive  face  flushed  through  its  fairness,  as  he 
paused  in  his  hurried  words.  Never  before  had  he  opened  his 
heart  so  nearly  to  any  human  soul.  Mark  began  to  speak. 

"  It 's  no  matter, ' '  Nathanael  interrupted.  ' '  Your  coming 
here  and  doing  this  has  only  made  me  see  it  in  a  plainer  way, 
without  the  glamour  of  even  the  vague  little  hope  I  was 
beginning  to  allow  myself.  It 's  the  lightning  stroke  of  the 
inevitable.  It  has  to  hit  somewhere,  sometime,  you  know." 
Nathanael  threw  out  his  words  in  huddled  bunches,  with 
long  pauses  between,  and  as  he  thus  stammered  forth  his 
pain,  Mark  felt  his  heart  warm  toward  him. 

"No,  I  don't  know,"  he  replied.  "I  see  no  inevitable 
about  it,  except  that  you  love  this  woman.  Don't  let  my 
way  of  putting  it  fluster  you;  it 's  right.  A  man  must  love 
a  woman,  or  he  has  no  manhood  in  him.  Why,  fellow,  it 's 
a  man's  glory  to  be  able  to  love  a  woman  like  that,  and  in 
your  case  I  fail  to  see  its  hopelessness." 
r  Nathanael  gave  an  incredulous  little  laugh.  "  She  has  had 
every  advantage  of  education  and  culture  —  she  has  money 
—  she  can  go  and  come  as  she  will.  Since  her  young  girl- 
hood I  've  only  seen  her  in  the  summers,  between  times  of 
drudging  on  this  farm.  She  may  go  out  and  choose  her  a 
mate  from  the  best,  while  I  hoe  out  my  destiny  among  the 
grubs  that  eat  my  tomato  vines.  Not  see  its  hopelessness  ?  " 
he  spread  out  his  hands,  showing  the  roughened  palms. 
"There 's  a  hand  to  offer  a  woman  like  that,"  he  said,  look- 
ing at  the  head  on  the  easel. 

"Come  back  and  sit  down.     Let 's  talk  this  matter  over 


120  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

calmly,"  said  Mark,  quietly.  "Now,  then,  tell  me  what 
is  your  bent?" 

Nathanael  looked  up  at  him  in  surprise.  "My  bent?" 
he  said. 

"Yes.  You  seem  to  disparage  this  picturesque  farm  of 
yours  — 

"It's  my  father's,  not  mine,  nor  likely  to  be." 

"And  talk  about  dying  here  like  a  rat  in  a  hole.  What  do 
you  mean  by  it?  Don't  be  so  eternally  reserved.  Tell 
a  friend." 

"I  haven't  much  to  tell." 

"You  're  an  educated  man  —  you  have  brains.  What  do 
you  want  to  do?" 

Nathanael  pulled  a  wisp  from  the  pile  of  hay  behind  him 
and  bit  it  in  two,  then  with  a  dry  laugh  tossed  it  away. 
"Come,"  he  said,  "I'll  show  what  I've  kept  to  myself 
until  I  'm  heart  sick  with  impatience.  You  see  —  '  he 
paused  with  a  gesture  of  desperation,  "  I  'm  completely  han- 
dicapped. I  —  well — in  more  ways  than  I  could  tell  you." 
He  passed  along  a  narrow  passage  at  the  end  of  the  stalls  for 
cattle,  and  entered  a  small  shed  at  the  rear  fitted  up  with 
bench  and  tools  of  various  kinds.  "Here  it  is.  Come 
in."  He  set  a  stool  near  the  bench,  and  Mark  sat  down, 
gazing  about  him  in  amazement. 

The  place  was  filled  with  various  contrivances  of  mechani- 
cal device,  some  screwed  to  the  wall,  some  tucked  under 
the  bench,  or  on  it,  and  all  connected  with  an  electric  bat- 
tery in  one  corner  by  a  complete  system  of  wires.  "Why, 
how's  this?"  Mark  exclaimed.  "I  never  dreamed  this 
would  be  your  bent ;  I  had  the  idea  that  your  taste  ran  more 
in  the  Greek  and  Latin  line." 


IN  THE  BARN  STUDIO  121 

"Well,  it  did;  at  least,  I  had  to  go  in  the  conventional 
track  for  a  while.  There  seemed  no  way  for  me  to  get  the 
money  to  finish  my  course  at  Harvard  but  to  tutor,  so  I 
prepared  myself  that  way;  but  somehow  I  got  a  taste  for 
this  kind  of  thing,  and  have  followed  it  up  when  I  have  had 
time." 

He  seated  himself  on  the  bench  and  began  playing  with  the 
buttons  ranged  at  the  back.  "This  is  the  way  they  work," 
he  said.  "Watch  that  clock  start."  His  face  grew  alight 
with  inward  fire.  "I  have  a  means  of  working  and  ad- 
justing every  one  of  these  contrivances,  sitting  here  at  my 
desk.  Yonder  is  a  safety  car  coupling ;  you  know  there  has 
never  yet  been  one  that  is  perfectly  practical,  but  this  would 
be.  I  won't  explain  it  now.  And  there  is  a  lock  for  dams, 
easily  worked,  and  free  from  the  objections  that  make  those 
escapes  so  unmanageable.  I  Ve  worked  hard  for  that. 
Behind  those  boards  is  a  working  model  of  a  hoisting 
machine.  A  man  can  sit  in  his  office  and  unload  cars  as  fast 
as  they  can  shove  them  up,  very  nearly.  Now  here,  on 
this  little  dial,  he  can  see  just  how  full  the  vaults  are ;  if 
it's  grain,  how  many  bushels,  if  ore,  how  many  tons;  just 
the  shifting  of  this  point  regulates  that.  Watch  now."  He 
removed  a  screen  of  boards  that  covered  the  whole  end  of  the 
room,  and  Mark  saw  the  space  behind  was  filled  with  the 
working  model  of  which  he  had  spoken,  and  noticed  with 
delight  the  beautiful  workmanship  of  all  the  parts,  and  the 
smoothness  with  which  they  acted  when  the  affair  was  set 
in  motion,  which  Nathanael  accomplished,  as  he  had  said, 
from  his  seat  at  the  bench. 

"Why,  man  !  You  're  a  genius.  What 's  the  matter  with 
you,  that  you  were  so  down  on  yourself  a  while  ago  ?" 


122  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

"Humph!  Genius?  This  represents  a  tremendous 
amount  of  hard  work,  and  what  can  I  do  with  it  ?  Some  of 
these  things  have  been  brought  out  by  others,  and  are  now 
in  use  before  I  could  get  together  the  money  for  their  patent- 
ing. I  have  made  these  parts,  every  one  of  them,  myself, 
when  a  little  money  would  have  saved  me  hours  of  labor, 
and  given  me  the  benefit  of  my  ideas.  What  little  I  make 
on  this  stone  heap  of  a  farm  is  not  mine,  and  it  is  gone  before 
it  is  —  but  never  mind.  There  is  the  money  for  a  year's 
tutoring  in  that  machine,  just  in  the  materials  alone.  It 
would  be  easier  if  I  were  only  a  dreamer,  and  were  satisfied 
with  these,  but  I  am  ready  to  go  out  and  use  them.  I  want 
a  chance  to  make  them  practical.  I  don't  care  to  spend 
any  more  time  here,  lying  low  and  waiting." 

"Does  your  father  —  ?" 

"Father's  old  and  prejudiced.  He's  worked  hard,  and 
saved  closely  for  all  he  has,  and  I  would  n't  ask  him  for  a 
cent  of  it,  if  I  never  get  a  patent." 

"  But  surely  he  would  be  willing  to  help  you  out  with  this 
for  the  money  there  is  in  it." 

Nathanael  laughed  his  dry  little  laugh,  and  began  putting 
up  the  board  screen. 

"Hold  on  a  minute,"  cried  Mark.  "Let  me  understand 
this.  What's  the  practical  value?  Can  it  do  anything 
besides  lift  wheat?" 

"That's  it,"  cried  Nathanael,  his  face  lighting  again. 
"This  is  what  I  have  been  fool  enough  to  hope  the  most  for. 
Lift  wheat  ?  It  can  lift  anything.  See  here.  Remove  these 
pans,  and  shift  this  lever,  and  drop  this  shaft.  Now  it  can 
hoist  an  elevator  of  coal  from  a  mine ;  pull  a  carload  of  ore 
a  mile  away ;  do  anything.  My  invention  is  chiefly  valuable 


IN  THE  BARN  STUDIO  123 

for  the  ease  with  which  it  can  be  worked  from  a  distance, 
and  in  the  amount  of  power.  Here  are  my  drawings." 
He  showed  Mark  his  books,  and  carefully  went  over  every 
detail.  "Now,"  he  said,  when  he  had  finished,  "you  are 
the  only  being  living  who  knows  the  secrets  of  this  little 
room.  My  brother  's  not  interested  in  these  things,  and 
father  thinks  I  'm  little  better  than  a  gambler,  and  suspects 
me  of  wanting  him  to  die  so  I  can  squander  his  hard-earned 
savings.  But  we  '11  drop  that  part.  Here  comes  father 
now."  He  replaced  the  screen,  as  a  little  old  man  thumped 
up  with  his  cane,  and  thrust  his  head  in  at  the  door. 

"Be  ye  here,  Nat?"  he  roared.  Being  deaf  himself,  he 
took  the  rest  of  the  world  to  be  also  hard  of  hearing.  "The 
cattle  're  out  of  the  lot,  tramping  over  your  corn  planting." 
He  turned  and  thumped  away  again,  muttering  to  himself, 
without  pausing  to  speak  to  Mark.  "Always  know  where 
to  find  you  when  there 's  anything  to  be  done,  lazying  over 
your  fool  trifles  'r  loafing  up  the  loft  with  that  painter." 

"I'll  look  after  them,  father,"  called  Nathanael  pleas- 
antly after  the  retreating  figure,  and  turning  the  key  on  his 
hopes  as  he  turned  it  in  the  shed  door.  "I  Ve  taken  a  good 
deal  of  your  time,  Mr.  Thorn,  and  I  thank  you  for  your  inter- 
est," he  said,  with  dignity,  as  they  traversed  the  long  pas- 
sage after  the  muttering  old  man.  His  cheeks  mantled 
with  shame  at  his  father's  treatment  of  himself  and  his 
guest;  nevertheless,  as  he  was  his  father,  he  covered  the 
hurt  with  a  return  to  his  habitual  reserve.  "Of  course  it 
disquiets  father,  with  his  strong  prejudices,  to  find  me  moon- 
ing over  these  things." 

"We  must  find  a  way  out  of  this  for  you,"  said  Mark. 
"Keep  up  a  good  heart,  man." 


124  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

"Thank  you.  I  Ve  tried  to  do  that,  but  things  have 
slipped  from  under  my  hands  so  often,  and  seeing  you  — • 
knowing  you  —  I  realize  how  far  away  I  am  from  my  goal 
—  I  Ve  set  it  pretty  high,  you  know."  He  paused,  and  the 
inward  fire  of  his  nature  burst  through  the  crust.  He  leaned 
a  little  toward  Mark,  and  said  in  a  voice  of  low  intensity, 
"Father  believes  hell  is  a  lake  of  fire  and  brimstone.  I 
know  it  is  a  man's  soul,  who  has  aspirations,  and  no  hope." 

"Have  you  ever  had  a  friend  ?"  said  Mark,  as  he  paused 
with  one  foot  on  the  ladder  leading  up  to  his  loft. 

"Not  in  the  sense  in  which  you  mean  it,  no.  Not  a  man 
friend." 

"Then  take  my  hand  and  know  that  you  have  one.  We  '11 
talk  this  all  over  again  soon,  but  now  I  '11  go  to  my  painting, 
and  you  look  after  your  cows." 

Nathanaeldid  not  reply,  but  he  took  the  hand  held  out 
to  him  in  a  strong,  nervous  grasp,  and  their  eyes  met.  He 
did  not  need  to  speak.  Mark  needed  no  more  than  that 
one  magnetic  look  to  assure  him  that  his  overture  was  re- 
ceived with  the  fine  appreciation  of  a  sensitive  nature,  and 
had  sent  a  ray  of  heaven  into  that  soul's  hell. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

JACK  STODDARD'S  WOOING 

Far  sailing  on  the  faint  horizon's  edge 
And  all  enmeshed  in  threads  of  golden  light, 
The  fair  moon  rises  from  the  moving  sea, 
And  melancholy  shades  in  hurried  flight 
Withdraw  to  holes  and  caves  and  somber  woods ; 
And  now  comes  sighing  a  poor  lovelorn  wight, 
Lured  by  the  moon's  enchanting  spell,  to  creep 
And  woo  a  maid  throughout  the  charmM  night. 

SEATED  in  his  loft  before  his  easel,  Mark  worked  for  a  while 
with  unremitting  care.  An  air  from  Schumann  which 
Elizabeth  had  played  for  him  the  evening  before  hung  in 
his  mind,  and  he  whistled  the  refrain,  but  he  was  not  think- 
ing of  her.  He  was  thinking  of  Joyful  and  Louise.  He 
wondered  why  he  was  always  connecting  them  in  his  thought 
when  nothing  that  pertained  to  either  could  ever  suggest 
the  other.  It  seemed  as  if  some  intangible  thread  connected 
the  two.  Suppose  they  should  meet,  what  would  they  do 
with  each  other?  What  would  Louise  do  with  Joyful, 
rather?  "She  is  far  better  off  with  Miss  Drew  for  her 
guardian  angel,"  he  thought,  and  with  the  thought  came 
a  haunting  sense  of  disloyalty  to  his  love.  Yet  he  would 
not  like  to  see  Joyful  changed. 

Of  course  the  child  must  develop  and  find  her  bearings,  if 
ever  she  came  to  fend  for  herself,  as  she  surely  must  some- 
time ;  but  to  be  really  changed,  to  be  no  more  Joyful,  with 

125 


i26  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

the  charmed  soul,  born  of  the  woods,  the  sea,  and  the  sky  — 
how  could  she  change  and  meet  the  sordid  cares  entailed 
in  a  struggle  with  the  world  for  a  right  to  exist  and  become 
a  part  of  it,  without  suffering  ?  Ah,  it  was  a  sad  thought. 
She  must  undergo  deterioration  by  it.  Like  a  harebell  torn 
from  its  mossy  bank,  were  she  to  be  dragged  out  into  the 
world  as  he  knew  it,  she  would  be  crushed  or  transformed 
into  something  less  lovely.  He  thought  he  saw  in  it  all  the 
very  "Irony  of  Fate."  Here  was  Nathanael,  who  should 
rightly  and  properly  become  her  Knight  Errant,  large- 
minded  and  sweet-souled,  capable  of  appreciating  the  child's 
charm;  but  he,  forsooth,  must  needs  fix  his  contrary  heart 
on  Elizabeth,  who  did  not  need  him,  and  might  suit  herself 
with  a  lover  where  she  would.  The  fellow  had  made  a  mis- 
take. Why  should  he  fix  his  affections  in  so  hopeless  a  way 
on  Elizabeth,  when  the  very  nature  of  the  case  demanded 
that  he  love  Joyful  ?  The  more  he  thought  it  over,  the  more 
his  plan  appeared  to  be  right. 

Alas  for  the  limitations  of  human  knowledge !  Could 
Mark  Thorn  have  looked  with  omniscient  eye  in  to  Elizabeth's 
soul,  he  would  have  found  mirrored  in  its  clear  depths  the 
image  of  the  young  man  from  whom  he  had  just  parted 
at  the  foot  of  the  ladder.  Could  he  have  seen  Joyful  as 
her  Creator  saw  her,  he  would  have  likened  her  not  to  a 
frail  harebell  by  the  stream,  but  to  a  priceless  gem,  which 
might  indeed  be  trampled  upon,  but  which  could  never  take 
a  stain  because  of  its  inherent  inability  to  coalesce  with  im- 
purity. Joyful,  her  stronghold  being  her  own  spirit,  would 
be  safer  far  in  the  midst  of  the  world's  entanglements  than 
Mark  Thorn  himself,  with  all  his  worldly  wisdom.  How- 
ever, not  being  omniscient,  but  merely  a  kindly  human 


JACK  STODDARD'S  WOOING  127 

brother,  he  softly  whistled  and  worked,  weaving  a  love  tale 
out  of  the  elements  around  him,  and  planning  earnestly  a  way 
of  escape  for  Nathanael  from  his  present  thraldom  to  the 
dragon  of  poverty  and  his  father's  captious  nature. 

"Has  old  Mr.  Stoddard  any  money?"  he  asked  Somers, 
as  they  sat  on  the  step  after  supper  that  evening. 

"Why,  the'  do  say  't  he's  pretty  well  off  'nd  got  money 
banked  away.  Well,  he  'd  ought  to  be  —  closter  'n  a  steel 
trap  —  be'n  savin'  ever  sence  he  wuz  born.  He  sticks  to 
a  dollar  like  a  weasel  sticks  to  a  hen.  Somebody  told  me 
't  knows,  't  he  's  wuth  ten  thousand  dollars  'f  he  's  wuth 
a  cent."  Mark  smiled  at  his  loquacious  informer's  idea  of 
boundless  wealth,  as  he  brought  his  wrinkled  face  close  to 
his  listener's  ear,  and  spoke  these  last  words  in  an  awed 
whisper.  "  He  's  got  good  idees  too,  the  old  man  has.  Alluz 
square  dealin'  —  pays  all  his  bills  up  cash,  goes  to  church 
reg'lar,  'nd  prayer  meetin',  too,  for  all  he  can't  hear  nothin' 
when  he  does  go.  That 's  more  'n  some  does.  But  he  's  got 
idees,  certain,  fer  all  he  's  kinder  grindin'  on  his  sons,  so  the' 
say  —  on  Nathanael  leastways ;  not  so  much  so  on  Jack ; 
but  then,  p'raps  Jack  won't  stand  it.  The'  is  boys  that 
way.  You  can't  grind  'em  like  you  can  some." 

"How  so?"  Mark  usually  obtained  all  the  information 
he  wished  by  throwing  in  a  question  now  and  then,  and 
waiting  while  Somers'  slow  speech  trailed  along  over  a  wide 
range  of  village  history. 

"Why,  ye  see,  they  is  them  that  ups  and  goes  when  th' 
grindin'  sets  in.  They  won't  hev  their  noses  held  down, 
no  more  'n  a  high-steppin'  horse  '11  lean  to  th'  plow.  Jack, 
he  's  mettlesome  'nd  full  o'  sperrit,  'nd  hard  to  hold.  Nat, 
he  '11  stan'  most  anythin'  f 'm  his  pa.  When  Jack  skips,  he 


128  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

jes'  ties  down  to  th'  farm  'nd  makes  things  go.  When  his 
pa's  temper  's  drove  off  every  hand  the'  is  to  be  got  in  th' 
place,  he  shuts  his  mouth  up  glum,  'nd  carries  things. 
Don't  say  nothin'  to  nobody.  Some  say  he  ain't  got  much 
sperrit,  not  to  speak  on,  'nd  he  doos  go  moonin'  c'nsid'able; 
but  there  !  's  I  says  to  S'phi,  I  says,  't  that  boy  's  got  more 
fire  in  him  'n  you  'd  think.  Says  I, '  He  's  like  yer  rut  beer— 
don't  dast  let  th'  cork  out  fer  fear  he  '11  fizzle  so  't  all  the 
good  the'  is  in  him  '11  go.  Like  's  not  he  makes  it  a  point 
to  keep  himself  bottled  up,' says  I,  'nd  I  calc'late  't  I  'm  right, 
too,  fer  he 's  like  his  ma.  Now  his  ma,  she  was  the  greatest 
one  to  work  you  ever  see.  She  'd  work  till  she  dropped  in 
her  tracks.  Why,  the  way  that  woman  died,  't  was  th'  same 's 
if  she  died  with  th'  harness  on  'nd  was  gone  'fore  ye'  could 
onhitch  her.  Some  said  't  she  had  n't  no  sperrit,  'er  she 
would  n't  a  let  th'  old  man  drive  'er  so.  But  Land  sakes  ! 
't  wan't  his  drivin'.  She  done  it  herself,  'nd  how  I  know, 
well,  't  was  this  way.  Mis.  Pitman,  she  lives  next  door  here, 
she  told  S'phi,  'nd  S'phi  told  me.  She  says  to  Mis.  Stoddard 
one  day,  when  she  come  there  'nd  found  her  startin'  to  walk 
four  mile  to  the  station  'ith  her  butter  after  she  'd  done  a  big 
washin'  in  the  mornin',  says  she,  'Why,  Mis.  Stoddard, 
whatever  doos  make  you  work  so?  Jes'  killin'  yerself,' 
says  she,  'The'  won't  nobody  give  you  no  thanks/  says  she. 
'Nd  Mis.  Pitman  says  to  S'phi, '  Mis.  Somers,  you  'd  ought  to 
'a  seen  her.  She  looked  at  me  's  if  her  eyes  'd  shoot  fire,  'nd 
she  says,  " Who  wants  thanks ?"  says  she.  "I  ain't  doin' 
this  f'r  him;  I  'm  doin'  it  f'r  my  two  boys.  They  Ve  got  to 
be  educated  'f  I  have  to  crawl  on  my  hands  and  knees  'nd 
pack  this  butter  to  th'  station  on  my  back." 

"  Nobody  need  n't  tell  me  't  she  was  a  poor  sperritless 


JACK  STODDARD'S  WOOING  129 

creature.  You  see,  sperrit  works  two  ways.  In  some  it 
makes  'em  high  steppin',  'nd  drivin'  o'  others,  'nd  I  take 
it  that 's  Jack's  way ;  'nd  then  in  others  it  makes  'em  work 
themselves  like  all  possessed  till  the  whole  'tarnal  earth 
can't  stop  'em  from  gettin'  what  the'  're  after.  Well,  the  old 
man  was  fair,  'f  he  is  clost.  The'  do  say  't  he  put  by  all  the 
money  't  she  earned,  'gainst  the  boys  growed  up,  'nd  that 's 
what  sent  'em  to  college.  Nat,  he  was  through  high 
school,  put'  near,  when  she  died.  Nat  went  to  Harvard,  all 
right,  like  his  ma  wanted,  'nd  when  he  come  to  his  last  year 
he  quit  'nd  sent  Jack.  You  see,  how  he  come  to  quit,  he 
would  n't  spend  a  cent  more  'n  his  half  o'  th'  money.  The' 
do  say,  't  when  Jack  came  to  take  his  turn,  't  he  run  through 's 
much  money  's  had  done  Nat  three  years,  in  six  months,  'nd 
then  Nat  run  in  debt  f 'r  him,  I  don't  know  how  much.  Nat 
never  'd  tell.  His  pa  would  n't  help  him  out  none,  so  all  the 
money  Nat  'd  earnt  in  one  way  and  another  't  he  'lowed  to 
finish  up  on,  all  went  to  his  brother.  He  says  Jack  '11  pay  him 
back  —  well,  I  hope  he  will  —  'fore  it 's  too  late."  Here 
Mrs.  Somers'  voice  was  heard,  calling  shrilly. 

"  Somers  —  Somers  —  where  be  yuh  ?  Hain't  you  never 
goin'  to  draw  the  water  ?  I  got  to  put  them  clo'es  a-soak." 

"Yes,  S'phi,  I  'm  comin'  fast  's  I  can.  Women  is  the 
most  impatient  creatures  !  It  does  beat  all  how  differently 
college  works  on  boys.  Now  Nat  —  when  he  started  in  he 
was  one  o'  these  green,  or'nary  chaps,  jes'  halfway  between 
stringin'  and  shellin',  like  all  boys  is  'long  'bout  that  age, 
but  when  he  come  home  you  never  see  such  a  change  's 
the'  was  in  that  boy.  He  carried  himself  straight  'nd  head 
up,  like  one  o'  these  blood  horses  't  lets  the  check-rein  flop 
loose  —  looked  ye'  in  the  eye  'nd  took  his  hat  clean  off  his 


i3o  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

head  to  th'  women  —  guess  the'  wan't  much  inside  o'  books 
'r  out  of  'em  he  had  n't  learned  in  them  three  years ;  but  his 
brother  —  well,  with  him  't  was  diffrent.  Now  he  — 

"  Somers  !  Be  ye'  there  ?  Be  ye  goin'  to  draw  that  water 
'r  ain't  ye?"  called  the  exasperated  voice  of  S'phi. 

"Yes,  ma,  yes.  I'm  comin'  —  Women  can't  never  wait 
for  nothin'  —  But  I  kinder  noticed  Nat  lately.  He  seems 
to  be  gitt'n  glum  'nd  mopin'  again."  He  rose  and  sauntered 
around  the  house,  disappearing  in  the  direction  of  the  well. 

Mark  sat  a  few  moments  longer,  then  decided  he  would 
call  on  the  Drews  for  an  evening  of  music  and  chat.  He  had 
fallen  in  the  way  of  doing  this.  As  they  sat  on  the  little 
stoop  in  the  evening  light,  some  one  strolled  past,  dimly  seen 
in  the  gathering  dusk.  "Could  that  be  Jack  Stoddard?" 
Elizabeth  asked  herself.  "Why  was  he  here  again  so  soon  ?  " 

Mark  had  been  speaking  of  Nathanael,  revealing  none  of  the 
secrets  of  the  little  barn  workroom,  however,  holding  sacred, 
even  from  these  friends,  the  young  man's  confidences. 

"There  's  splendid  material  in  that  young  fellow  —  I  am 
convinced  of  it,"  he  was  saying. 

"So  am  I,"  replied  Elizabeth,  quietly. 

"  Nathanael  holds  himself  too  much  aloof  from  his  fel- 
lows," said  Mrs.  Drew.  "It 's  not  good  for  a  young  man." 

"Mother,  who  is  there  in  the  village  for  him  to  associate 
with  ?  No  one  here  is  his  equal,  unless,  perhaps,  the  rector, 
and  he  feels  himself  so  exalted  by  reason  of  his  office  that 
Nathanael  could  as  easily  hobnob  with  the  church  door. 
I  would  like  to  shake  that  man  sometimes.  His  black 
clothes  fit  him  altogether  too  well." 

"Nathanael  spoke  freely  with  thee,  Elizabeth,  concerning 
his  brother;  yet  he  kept  back  much,  I  'm  thinking." 


JACK  STODDARD'S  WOOING  131 

"He  seems  very  fond  of  that  brother  of  his,"  said  Mark. 
"I've  only  seen  the  boy  twice.  He  returned  this  evening, 
and  I  had  a  few  words  with  him  at  the  Stoddards'  gate. 
He 's  a  handsome  fellow." 

"Far  too  handsome,"  said  Elizabeth.  "I  thought  he 
sailed  away  three  weeks  ago,  for  a  three  years'  cruise. 
What  is  he  back  for?" 

"That's  more  than  I  know,"  said  Mark,  with  a  laugh. 
"Perhaps  it  is  to  see  Joyful  Heatherby.  Was  n't  that  he 
who  passed  just  now?" 

Elizabeth  sat  silent  and  troubled.  She  did  not  care  to 
allow  this  man,  almost  a  stranger,  to  surmise  her  thoughts. 

"He  may  be  a  good  fellow,"  continued  Mark,  "but  he 
never  would  be  able  to  appreciate  that  child's  nature.  His 
brother  could,  if  he  cared  to." 

"Thee  must  have  her  to  spend  the  day  with  thee  to-mor- 
row, Elizabeth." 

"Not  to-morrow,  mother.  Thee  has  forgotten  thy  en- 
gagement in  town.  Next  day  I  will.  Shall  we  go  in  for 
some  music  ?  I  have  a  new  song  you  must  try  for  me,  Mr. 
Thorn." 

So  they  went  in  and  looked  over  new  music,  and  the  sub- 
ject of  their  neighbors  was  dropped.  Mark  wondered,  with 
a  slight  sense  of  disappointment,  at  her  apparent  indiffer- 
ence. He  had  thought  her  greatly  interested  in  Joyful. 
In  one  corner  he  noticed  a  quaint  old  guitar  case  of  leather, 
studded  with  brass.  "Do  you  play  that  instrument  also  ? " 
he  asked,  regarding  it  curiously. 

"Very  little.  I  like  the  piano  better,  of  course.  That  is 
Joyful's  guitar.  It  was  her  mother's."  She  took  it  from  the 
case.  "  See,  it 's  a  very  fine  one." 


132  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

"Did  you  know  her  mother?" 

"Indeed,  yes.  She  was  not  really  as  pretty  as  Joyful, 
but  she  had  a  rare  charm  about  her.  I  never  loved  any 
woman  more,  except  my  mother,"  she  said  softly.  "Ex- 
amine this.  The  workmanship  is  beautiful.  Joy  plays 
it  very  well,  and  has  quite  a  pretty  taste.  Her  mother 
taught  her,  and  I  've  helped  her  somewhat.  She  leaves  it 
here  when  we  're  at  home,  and  comes  to  practice  when  she 
has  time.  She  is  a  busy  little  thing,  you  know.  She  can't 
play  it  at  home  because  it  makes  her  grandmother  very 
melancholy." 

Elizabeth  turned  away  and  began  a  nocturne  of  Chopin's. 
She  hated  to  show  her  feelings,  but  Mark  thought  he  was 
beginning  to  understand  her,  and  sat  silent,  listening. 
Suddenly  she  stopped  and  turned  half  round.  "Perhaps 
you  think  it  strange  I  care  so  little  about  Jack's  going  to  see 
her ;  but  I  know  Joyful.  She 's  in  no  danger  from  him.  She 
is  so  far  away  from  him  and  so  elusive,  that  he  might  as  well 
think  of  courting  a  rainbow." 

"I  don't  know  about  that.  I  heard  her  defending  him 
roundly  to  her  grandmother,  the  evening  they  took  me  in. 
I  could  n't  help  hearing.  I  did  n't  know  who  Jack  was  then, 
but  I  think  she  may  be  in  danger." 

Elizabeth  turned  and  finished  the  nocturne.  "  Nathanael's 
love  will  save  her  from  Jack,  in  that  event,"  she  thought, 
but  said  only,  "I  think  it  was  merely  her  kindness  of  heart. 
She  would  champion  any  one  whom  she  felt  was  being 
abused  —  besides  —  some  one  else  thinks  more  of  her  than 
Jack  does,  or  ever  could." 

She  plunged  into  a  tumultuous  tarantelle,  and  Mark 
leaned  back  and  watched  her.  "She  's  too  deep  for  me,"  he 


JACK  STODDARD'S  WOOING  133 

thought.  "Does  she  mean  Nathanael,  or  is  she  trying  to 
ward  me  off?" 

He  went  home  with  the  question  still  unanswered,  and 
determined  to  spend  the  next  day  at  the  Heatherbys'  and 
paint  Joyful,  if  he  could ;  and  if  not,  sketch  in  the  vicinity. 
He  would  see  more  of  the  child.  She  was  continually  in  his 
thoughts,  and  always  with  a  sense  of  foreboding  for  her 
future.  Yet  he  smiled  at  the  futility  of  any  attempt  on  his 
part  to  interfere  with  her  fate.  What  could  he  do?  She 
must  live  her  little  life  here  until  some  way  opened  —  but 
then  what  ?  One  thing  only  could  he  do.  He  could  teach 
her  not  to  idealize  Jack.  To  save  her  from  him  was  some- 
thing, and  moreover,  he  would  look  into  the  matter  of 
Nathanael's  inventions  and  see  what  he  could  do  to  start 
the  man  along.  He  would  run  up  to  Boston,  and  see  a  few 
business  friends  there,  and  stop  long  enough  to  visit  his  aunt 
and  Louise. 

Jack  had  spent  that  evening  seated  on  the  Heatherbys' 
porch,  smoking  with  the  old  man,  and  talking,  and  watching 
impatiently  for  Joyful  to  come  out.  He  knew  she  was  in  her 
room,  for  he  could  see  the  light  in  her  window,  and  hear  her 
stepping  about.  He  explained  loudly,  that  she  might  hear, 
that  their  sailing  had  been  delayed,  and  that  he  had  run  up  to 
see  Nat,  and  must  leave  again  next  day ;  that  this  was  the 
only  evening  he  would  have,  and  that  then  he  must  be  a 
wanderer.  But  in  spite  of  the  sadness  at  his  heart,  which 
he  felt  sure  she  ought  to  know,  she  did  not  appear.  He  was 
angry,  and  held  his  head  high,  and  presently  bidding  the  old 
man  good-bye,  stalked  away  into  the  darkness. 

He  had  not  seen  her  since  the  evening  he  had  kissed  her  at 
the  gate.  She  had  a  shamed  fear  of  meeting  him  after  that 


i34  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

kiss,  and  during  the  week  of  his  stay  had  persistently  avoided 
him  by  spending  as  much  of  her  time  as  possible  with  Eliza- 
beth, practicing  her  guitar  and  sewing.  She  would  hurry 
around  with  her  work  at  home,  kiss  her  grandmother  good- 
bye, and  escape.  Sometimes  she  longed  to  have  her  old 
playmate  back  again  as  he  used  to  be,  even  with  his  tyranny 
and  boyish  contempt  of  her  girl  ways ;  and  as  she  heard  his 
voice  below,  on  this  soft  June  evening,  she  cried  a  little; 
but  all  the  more  she  would  not  go  down,  nor  let  him  see  she 
cared,  partly  through  pride,  and  partly  through  maidenly 
fear  lest  he  seize  upon  her  and  make  her  say  something  she 
did  not  wish  to  say.  In  her  heart  she  could  not  help  com- 
paring Mr.  Thorn  with  him.  "Of  course  he  is  n't  as  hand- 
some as  Jack  —  no  one  is  —  but  then" — and  again  the 
gentle  courtesy  of  Mark's  manner  would  come  back  to  her, 
and  the  inflections  of  his  voice.  She  heard  him  saying, 
"Again  you  are  right,  Miss  Joyful."  Then  she  would 
go  over  in  her  mind  considering  the  things  of  which  he  was 
talking  with  Mrs.  Drew  and  Elizabeth.  Why,  Jack  would  n't 
even  know  what  the  difference  was  between  Mr.  Thorn  and 
himself. 

Thinking  these  thoughts,  she  leaned  out  of  the  window 
and  watched  the  moon  in  a  glowing  disk,  rise  out  of  the  sea. 
The  house  grew  still,  and  she  knew  her  grandfather  and 
grandmother  were  gone  to  bed.  The  night  tempted  her. 
She  would  go  out  to  the  bluff  and  watch  the  "  Gold-green 
snakes"  playing  in  the  path  of  the  moonlight  on  the  water. 
She  threw  a  little  red  shawl  about  her,  and  ran  out  into  the 
beautiful  night,  along  the  path  through  the  blueberry  lot 
to  the  edge  of  the  bluff.  There  she  stood  gazing  off  into 
the  mysterious  dimness  with  the  long  path  of  quivering 


Jack  was  close  beside  her.     She  could  feel  his  breath  upon  her  cheek. 

Page  135. 


JACK  STODDARD'S  WOOING  135 

light,  leading  in  luminous  perspective  to  the  wonderful 
golden  ball  now  floating  on  the  horizon  line.  It  seemed  to 
her  the  very  soul  and  center  of  all  mystery,  creeping  slowly 
up  to  look  out  over  the  earth  upon  the  hidden  things 
-  the  soft,  fluttering  things  that  feared  to  come  out  in  the 
blazing  light  of  day.  , 

She  looked  up  at  the  sky.  It  was  very  far  away  — 
farther  than  in  the  daytime,  and  its  blue  seemed  turned 
into  a  purple  black,  sparingly  studded  with  brilliant  points. 
She  stretched  out  her  arms  toward  the  streaming  light  on 
the  sea.  Ah  !  if  she  could  only  go  out  there,  and  walk 
on  it.  She  threw  back  the  little  shawl  and  let  the  cool  air 
blow  about  her  face  and  neck,  and  her  heart  filled  with  a 
strange  and  thrilling  gladness — she  could  not  have  told  why, 
nor  for  what  —  but  only  that  the  world  was  so  very  beauti- 
ful and  sweet  and  still.  Her  soul  cried  out  in  ecstasy  a 
voiceless  song  of  gladness,  born  of  her  youth  and  strength, 
and  the  slumbering  dream  in  her  breast  of  something  that 
was  to  come  to  her  some  day,  and  which  would  be  akin  to 
this  moment  of  sweetness  and  stillness  and  mystery. 

She  forgot  Jack  and  her  fear  of  being  alone  with  him  again, 
and  stood  quiet  in  her  breathless  happiness,  only  feeling 
that  the  world  was  very  beautiful,  and  that  God  was  good 
to  make  it  so,  and  to  give  it  all  to'  her  —  all  the  beauty. 
Again  she  stretched  her  arms  out  toward  the  glorious 
path  of  light,  and  slowly  sank  upon  her  knees.  What  if  it 
should  become  a  real  path  and  lead  into  heaven  ? 

"Joy." 

She  gave  a  violent  start,  and  rose  quickly  to  her  feet. 
Jack  was  close  beside  her.  She  could  feel  his  breath  upon 
her  cheek,  and  she  shrank  back,  even  to  the  very  edge  of 


136  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

the  bluff.  He  reached  out  and  caught  hold  of  her,  pulling 
her  away. 

"  Why,  Joy,  you  must  n't  start  so.  It 's  only  me.  Come 
back.  You  '11  pitch  over  there.  I  did  n't  mean  to  scare  you 
so,  Joy.  No,  I  'm  going  to  hold  on  to  you  as  long  as  you 
will  stand  so  close  to  the  edge.  Come.  You  're  not  afraid 
of  me,  Joy  —  I  declare  I  believe  you  've  been  sleepwalking." 

She  stepped  away  from  the  edge  of  the  bluff,  and  he  let 
her  slip  from  his  grasp.  "I  've  been  sitting  right  over  there 
under  that  crab  tree  all  the  time.  I  wonder  you  did  n't  see 
me.  You  must  have  been  sleepwalking." 

"No,  I  haven't.  What  are  you  doing  here?  I  thought 
you  went  home." 

"I  could  n't  go  without  seeing  you,  Joy.  Why  would  n't 
you  come  down?  You  knew  I  was  there."  She  said 
nothing,  but  looked  off  over  the  sea  again.  "I  stayed 
around  here  hoping  you  'd  come  out,  and  if  you  had  n't,  I  'd 
have  thrown  pebbles  on  your  window  and  called  you  out. 
Did  you  think  I  was  going  to  sail  away  without  seeing  you 
again  —  without  getting  the  promise  I  want?  What 
makes  you  shiver  so,  Joy  ?  Are  you  cold  ?  Here,  put  on 
my  coat." 

"No,  no.    I'm  not  cold.    No,  Jack." 

"What  made  you  keep  out  of  my  way  that  week  I  was 
at  home  ?  Here  I  Ve  had  to  come  all  the  way  back  just  for 
this;  you  knew  all  the  time  I  was  there,  but  you  stayed  in 
your  room.  What  makes  you  treat  me  so,  Joy?  Don't 
you  like  me  any  more  ?  " 

Regretfully  she  had  turned  her  back  on  the  sea,  and  on 
her  dreams  and  imaginings.  The  reality  which  had  come 
so  suddenly  upon  her  seemed  more  unreal  than  they. 


JACK  STODDARD'S  WOOING  137 

She  wished  he  would  not  walk  so  close  to  her,  and  hurried 
her  steps  a  little  toward  the  cottage. 

"Why  do  you  hurry  so,  Joy  ?  Wait  a  little.  Don't  you 
like  me  any  more,  Joy  ?  Say,  don't  you  ?  "  He  spoke  with 
a  quiver  in  his  voice,  for  he  was  sorry  for  himself,  and  its 
sadness  touched  her. 

"Why,  yes,  Jack.     I  told  you  so  before." 

"Well,  you  don't  act  like  it.  You  used  to  run  to  meet 
me  when  I  came,  and  have  something  to  tell  me,  as  if  you 
were  glad ;  but  now  you  run  away  from  me,  and  try  not  to 
see  me." 

"But  you're  changed,  Jack.  I  wish  you  would  go  back 
and  be  just  as  you  used  to  be." 

"  Of  course  I  'm  changed.  Would  you  have  me  stay  a  boy 
all  my  life  ?  I  'm  a  man  now,  and  have  prospects  before 
me.  I  mean  to  be  rich  some  day  —  I  have  the  chance  — 
and  I  sha'  n't  let  it  get  away  from  me.  I  have  a  perfect  right 
to  speak  to  you.  See,  Joy  —  there  's  just  one  big  chance  in 
me,  and  I  'm  not  going  to  change  back.  Then  I  was  a  boy, 
and  your  playmate,  and  now  I  'm  a  man,  and  your  lover." 
He  caught  her  suddenly  and  drew  her  close  to  him.  "  Some 
day  you  're  going  to  be  my  wife,  Joy.  I  always  meant  that. 
Kiss  me  now,  and  say  you  will." 

Ah !  He  was  so  strong  and  handsome,  and  this  was 
really  like  what  she  had  read  of  in  books.  All  the  girls 
had  lovers,  of  course,  so  she  ought  to  have  one;  but  her 
heart  was  beating  so  hard,  and  she  could  not  feel  her  feet 
under  her  —  they  seemed  numb  —  and  she  could  not 
catch  her  breath  to  speak.  She  lifted  her  downcast  face, 
and  the  sweet  red  lips  drew  near  to  his.  Suddenly  the  old 
fear  clutched  at  her  heart,  and  she  turned  her  face  away, 


138  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

and  his  kiss  fell  on  her  cheek.  That  was  the  way  he  had 
kissed  her  before.  Oh,  if  he  would  only  stop  !  What 
would  her  grandmother  say  —  and  grand-daddy  —  what 
would  he  say  if  he  knew  she  were  out  here  in  the  night,  in 
Jack's  arms,  being  kissed?  What  would  Elizabeth  say? 
She  tried  to  tear  herself  away  from  him. 

"Oh,  Jack  !  Let  me  go.  Stop,  Jack;  I'm  not  ready  to 
have  a  lover  yet." 

"Yes,  you  are,  Joy.  This  is  all  right!  You're  going  to 
be  my  wife  some  day,  you  know." 

"Jack,  I  tell  you,  no!  It  isn't  all  right!  I've  never 
told  you  I  would.  Let  go  of  me.  I  shall  hate  you,  Jack." 
She  put  her  hand  over  his  eyes  and  pushed  his  face  away. 

"That 's  right,  Joy.  Blind  me.  Hate  me  and  blind  me," 
he  said  bitterly.  "I  can't  see  anything  but  you;  I  can't 
think  of  anything  but  you.  Push  me  off  and  hate  me." 
But  he  still  held  her. 

Suddenly  she  stopped  her  futile  struggle,  and  seemed  to 
gain  power  from  within,  or  above  herself.  "Jack,"  she 
said,  in  a  low  quiet  voice,  "Stop.  Let  go  of  me  and  take 
my  hand  and  walk  back  with  me  toward  the  house.  I 
have  something  to  say  to  you." 

He  obeyed  her,  and  she  put  her  hand  in  his  and  led  him 
on  toward  the  house,  but  did  not  speak.  As  they  neared 
the  cottage,  he  drew  back. 

"  Stay  here,  Joy.  If  we  go  any  farther  they  '11  hear  us 
talking  and  call  you  in.  What  is  it  you  have  to  say  to  me  ? 
Is  it  what  I  want,  Joy  ?  What  I  came  back  for  ?  " 

They  paused  under  a  wide-spreading  thorn  tree,  and  she 
turned  from  him,  leaning  her  head  in  her  arms  against  its 
rough  bark,  and  stood  for  a  moment  silent.  His  vehemence 


JACK  STODDARD'S  WOOING  139 

had  frightened  her,  and  she  feared  lest  she  say  what  she 
might  afterwards  repent.  Her  heart  was  crying  out  within 
her  for  help,  but  he  thought  her  weeping,  and  longed  to 
take  her  again  in  his  arms  and  comfort  her.  He  felt  as  he 
had  done  when  a  boy  and  had  hurt  her. 

"Don't  cry,  Joy.  Did  I  hurt  you?  I  couldn't  help  it. 
I  can't  seem  to  make  you  understand  how  I  feel,"  he  pleaded, 
putting  a  shaking  hand  on  her  shoulder  and  bringing  his 
face  close  to  hers -again.  "Listen,  Joy." 

But  she  held  him  back.  "No,  Jack.  I  must  talk  now. 
You  must  n't  try  to  make  me  say  what  you  want.  When 
you  come  back  in  another  year  you  '11  find  me  here  just  the 
same  —  why  need  you  be  so  determined  when  I  have  n't 
had  time  to  think  of  —  of  it  —  now  —  as  you  would  have 
me?  Why  need  you,  Jack?" 

"No.  I  can't  wait  a  year.  I  want  to  feel  that  I  have 
your  promise.  Think  what  it  would  do  for  me,  Joy,  — 
give  me  a  hope,  and  something  to  save  me  from  everything 
I  ought  to  be  saved  from.  I  could  n't  do  wrong,  you  know, 
Joy,  when  I  have  you  to  think  of.  Rather  than  go  without 
your  promise,  I  'd  steal  you  this  minute  and  take  you  off 
and  marry  you  now."  He  spoke  eagerly.  "Don't  keep 
stepping  back  from  me.  You  act  as  if  you  were  afraid  of 
me,  Joy." 

"I  am,  Jack,  when  you  hold  me  against  my  will." 

"Then  don't  let  it  be  against  your  will,  Joy." 

"That 's  it.  My  will  must  always  be  your  will ;  but  this 
time  I  '11  not  do  your  way.  That 's  why  I  would  n't  see  you 
again  —  and,  Jack,  listen  to  me.  I  can't  save  you  from 
anything.  Every  one  has  to  fight  his  own  monsters." 

"What  have  monsters  to  do  with  this?" 


i4o  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

"You  know  what  I  mean.  Out  in  the  world,  where  you 
are  going,  are  the  monsters  —  things  you  must  overcome, 
and  if  you  can  't  be  brave  and  fight  them  because  it 's  in 
your  own  heart  to  do  it,  and  because  you,  your  own  self, 
just  hate  anything  but  good  and  right,  what  help  could 
any  promise  from  me  be  to  you  ?  " 

"Why,  it  would  help  me  to  be  strong  to  think  you  were 
here  waiting  for  me,  you  know." 

She  shook  her  head.  "I  don't  know  how  it  is,  but  some 
way  it  seems  to  me  a  great  man  like  you,  to  be  really  noble 
and  good,  ought  to  be  strong  in  his  own  heart,  and  not 
need  always  some  kind  of  a  reward  held  out,  like  saying, 
'Now,  Jack,  be  good,  and  when  you  come  back  you  can 
have  me,'  as  if  I  were  a  piece  of  sugar  candy  and  you  were 
a  baby.  You  just  ought  to  sail  away  with  your  head  up, 
as  true  and  strong  and  glorious  as  the  knights  of  old  did, 
who  used  to  go  and  slay  dragons,  just  because  ugly,  wicked 
things  were  hateful  to  them.  That 's  the  way  Nathanael 
would  do." 

"Yes,  and  come  back  and  find  that  he,  or  some  other 
fellow,  had  won  you  away  from  me,  and  I  was  left  out  in 
the  cold.  I  see.  It 's  Nat,  or  some  one,  who  seems  better 
to  you  than  I.  That 's  why  you  're  afraid." 

Joyful  turned  abruptly  away  and  walked  toward  the 
house.  "It's  late,  Jack.  I'm  going  in." 

He  ran  after  her  and  caught  her  up  in  his  arms,  just 
as  she  reached  the  gate.  "Joy,  you  must  stop  and  say 
you  '11  promise  me  before  I  leave.  Were  you  going  in  with 
never  a  word  for  me,  when  this  is  to  be  the  last  for  a  year, 
perhaps  two?" 

"Yes.     I  do  n't  like  the  way  you  're  acting.   Put  me  down. 


JACK   STODDARD'S   WOOING  141 

We  're  not  children  any  more,  and  this  is  different.  I  'm 
sure.  Something  makes  me  feel  that  you  're  not  —  Oh, 
Jack !  Can't  you  see  you  're  only  making  me  afraid  of 
you?  Put  me  down,"  she  entreated. 

"Just  see  how  I  could  carry  you  off,  if  I  chose,  and  you 
could  n't  help  yourself.  Shall  I  take  you  away  and  never 
bring  you  back?  Give  me  my  promise,  or  I  will." 

"I  '11  tell  you  nothing  until  you  put  me  down,  Jack  !" 

"There,  then.  Stand  on  your  own  little  feet."  He  put 
his  hand  under  her  chin  and  turned  her  face  up  to  his. 
"Tell  me,  and  stop  shivering  so.  Why,  Joy,  I  wouldn't 
hurt  you,  don't  you  know  that  ?  " 

"I'll  make  you  just  one  promise,  Jack,  and  that  must 
content  you.  I  '11  not  marry  any  one  —  how  could  I  ?  — 
but  I  '11  stay  right  here  with  grandmother.  She  needs  me. 
You  '11  find  me  here  with  them  just  as  I  am." 

He  still  lifted  her  face  toward  his.     "  Is  that  all  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"You  won't  promise  to  marry  me  when  I  come  back?" 
She  was  silent,  and  her  lips  quivered.  "Won't  you  watch 
for  me,  and  hope  for  me  to  come  ? " 

She  pushed  his  hand  away  very  gently.  "  I  sha'  n't  prom- 
ise any  more  than  what  I  Ve  said.  When  you  come  back 
you  may  be  very  glad  I  have  not.  You  can't  tell.  I  have 
read  of  men  who  have  made  girls  promise  things,  and  then 
never  came  back,  but  stayed  away  and  broke  their  hearts ; 
and  some,  like  Tannhauser,  who  have  gone  off  and  listened  to 
sirens,  who  are  wicked  beings  who  have  no  souls  —  and  —  " 

"What  do  I  know  about  Tannhauser  ?  That 's  no  way  ! 
Either  you  love,  or  you  don't  love  me.  Tannhauser  has 
nothing  to  do  with  us." 


i42  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

"Oh,  I  do,  Jack,  I  do.  Or  at  least  I  did,  before  you  acted 
in  this  way.  You  're  safe  enough  with  the  promise  I  have 
made,  and  some  day  you  may  be  glad  it  is  no  more.  Be 
good,  Jack,  and  say  good-bye,  properly  —  and  —  Not  that 
way,  Jack.  It  is  n't  — 

"Then  give  me  my  promise,  or  I'll  do  worse,"  he  said, 
with  shaking  voice.  But  again  she  slid  out  from  his  grasp 
and  through  the  little  gate. 

"Good  night,  Jack,  —  Good-bye.  Do  right,  Jack,  - 
good-bye,"  she  said  softly,  and  reaching  up,  she  just  touched 
his  cheek  with  her  hand,  and  was  gone.  It  was  the  only 
caress  she  had  ever  voluntarily  given  him,  except  one.  She 
was  a  little  thing,  and  had  hurt  his  hand  by  slamming  the 
gate  against  it  in  one  of  her  tantrums  of  rebellion  at  his 
authority.  That  time  she  had  kissed  the  hand  she  had 
hurt,  and  one  of  her  precious  tears  had  fallen  on  it.  Now, 
again  her  tears  had  dropped  upon  his  hand  as  he  had  held 
her  face  turned  up  toward  his.  He  thought  of  that  other 
time,  and  stood  leaning  against  the  gate.  He  longed  for 
her  to  come  out  again.  His  arms  ached  to  hold  her  as 
he  had  held  her  a  moment  since.  Why  should  she  fear  him, 
and  slip  away  from  him  ?  He  knew  in  his  heart  she  was 
right  and  he  wrong,  yet  he  did  not  care.  He  wished  he  had 
held  her  and  kept  her  with  him. 


CHAPTER  DC 

JOYFUL'S  SECRET 

It  happened  once  upon  a  summer  day, 
A  maid  walked  forth  into  a  darkling  wood. 
Child  of  the  rain,  and  of  the  sun's  bright  ray,- — • 
Undina  was  she  called  —  and  while  she  stood 
Listening  a  bird  note  in  a  tree  top  high, 
God  wrought  in  her  fair  soul  a  mystery  sweet, 
Called  love  ;  and  when  she  turned,  she  saw  anigh 
A  strong  knight  kneeling  at  her  feet. 

As  Joyful  slipped  in  and  fastened  the  door  behind  her, 
she  heard  no  sound  but  the  ticking  of  the  clock  and  the 
purring  of  the  gray  cat  curled  up  on  the  patchwork  cushion 
of  the  rocking-chair.  The  room  seemed  so  cozy  and  safe 
that  again  she  thought  of  her  mother's  words,  "Here  art 
thou  safe,  little  one,"  as  she  crept  shivering  up  to  her  own 
little  white-curtained  chamber.  The  moonlight  streamed 
over  the  floor  and  fell  across  the  white  counterpane  and 
pillows  of  her  bed,  and  she  knelt  there,  still  and  white 
in  the  silvery  light.  She  was  neither  praying  nor  thinking ; 
she  was  quivering  throughout  her  whole  being  with  the 
strange  excitement  that  had  seized  upon  her.  Her  heart 
was  filled  with  a  woeful  longing  and  foreboding.  Oh !  if 
she  could  have  her  father  and  mother  back  again,  she  could 
tell  them,  and  ask  what  to  do.  If  only  Jack  had  n't  talked 
that  way,  and  had  let  things  be  as  they  were !  She  felt 

143 


144  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

that  because  of  him  and  what  he  had  said,  she  could  not 
be  happy  any  more.  Grand-daddy  would  be  so  angry  if 
he  knew,  and  grandmother  might  have  a  spell.  No,  she 
must  keep  this  from  them;  but  was  it  right?  At  last, 
from  sheer  weariness,  she  fell  asleep  there,  to  wake  at  last, 
stiff  and  wondering.  Then  she  said  her  prayers  and  crept 
into  bed,  and  again  sobbed  herself  to  sleep,  questioning 
in  her  heart  if  maidens  always  felt  like  this  when  they  had 
lovers,  or  if  it  was  really  such  a  gladsome  thing  as  the 
romancers  made  out. 

"Joy,  seems  to  me  ye  're  looking  white  this  morning. 
What  ails  you?"  said  her  grandfather  to  her  next  day,  as 
he  passed  her  in  the  summer  kitchen,  where  she  stood 
with  her  hands  in  the  flour,  kneading  a  ball  of  spongy  dough. 

"Am  I?"  she  asked,  her  face  suddenly  turning  crimson. 

"Why,  no,  y'  ain't  now,  you  look  b'ke  a  pe'ny.  What 
ails  you,  child  ?  " 

"Nothing,  grand-daddy." 

"She  said  she  had  headache  when  she  first  came  down 
this  mornin'.  Why  don't  ye  tell  ye'r  grandfather  the  truth, 
Joy?"  said  Mrs.  Heatherby.  "Here  — let  me  finish  that 
bread,  'nd  you  wash  th'  flour  off  ye'r  hands  'nd  run  out  in 
the  sun  a  spell.  It  '11  do  you  good." 

"I'm  all  right  now." 

"The  sun '11  do  you  good.  Run  on,  child.  You're 
nothing  else,  fer  all  ye  're  tall 's  I  be." 

Joyful  threw  her  arms  contritely  about  her  grandmother's 
neck,  scattering  flour  over  the  lilac  gown,  and  went  out.  A 
vague  sense  of  guilt  in  the  keeping  of  her  secret  troubled  her, 
and  her  heart  ached.  She  crept  upstairs  and  stood  looking 


JOYFUL'S  SECRET  145 

over  her  precious  books,  and  finally  selecting  two  favorites 
carried  them  out  in  the  sun,  as  her  grandmother  had  told 
her  to.  First  she  started  down  the  path  toward  the  sea, 
but  there  the  thought  of  Jack  and  his  eager  wooing  oppressed 
her,  and  the  sense  of  fear  that  had  made  her  quiver  under 
his  touch  rushed  over  her  again.  She  turned  back  and 
strolled  into  the  woods,  thinking  new  thoughts,  and  wonder- 
ing why  she  thought  them. 

For  a  while  she  started  and  trembled  at  every  slightest 
noise,  fearing  it  to  be  the  fall  of  a  foot,  or  the  breathing  of 
a  man  near  her.  What  if  Jack  should  come  again  suddenly 
-  what  could  she  say  ?  But  then,  why  should  she  be  afraid 
of  him  ?  Had  n't  they  always  known  each  other  ?  Had 
she  done  right  to  send  him  away  as  she  did  ?  Could  n't 
she  have  been  kinder?  But  then,  he  was  changed.  He 
was  not  the  old  Jack  who  had  played  with  her  and  tyran- 
nized over  her  all  her  life.  If  he  would  be  her  lover,  he 
must  show  his  love  by  doing  something  she  asked  of  him 
first,  as  the  knights  of  old  always  did.  First  he  must  pay 
Nathanael  all  he  owed  him.  She  would  tell  him  that,  if  he 
came  again.  She  shut  her  lips  firmly,  and  took  comfort 
in  the  thought  that  she  had  something  definite  to  say,  for 
her  true  and  inward  objection  to  his  suit  she  could  not 
interpret  to  herself,  much  less  to  him.  It  was  a  subtle 
fear  that  pervaded  her  inmost  soul,  when  he  changed  from 
the  playfellow  into  the  lover.  Her  heart  revolted  and  cried 
out:  "No,  no.  He  shall  not  possess  me." 

An  hour  later,  had  Mark  Thorn  been  gifted  with  pre- 
science, he  could  not  have  chosen  a  more  propitious  moment 
to  walk  into  her  presence.  It  was  with  deliberate  purpose 
he  had  set  out  that  morning,  armed  with  paints  and  brushes. 


146  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

With  the  unconscious  arrogance  that  pertains  to  the  human 
species,  he  would  essay  to  assume  the  Lord's  prerogative  of 
deciding  the  destinies  of  human  souls.  Nathanael  did  not 
know  what  was  good  for  him,  moreover  Joyful  should  be 
saved  from  becoming  the  slave  of  the  erratic  Jack.  He 
would  probe  into  her  nature  and  learn  what  influences  were 
at  work  there.  He  would  paint  her  and  incidentally  watch 
her  moods,  and  study  her  heart  —  and  lo  !  —  here  was  his 
picture  all  planned  for  him,  a  true  sylvan  romance. 

On  a  seat  fitted  in  the  forked  trunk  of  an  enormous  beech, 
she  sat,  with  the  sunlight  scattered  over  her,  like  golden 
rain  through  the  leaves.  She  was  reading  the  story  of 
Undine,  in  the  French,  and  had  forgotten  to  listen  for  foot- 
steps. When  she  heard  him  approach,  she  awoke  with  a 
startled  pallor  which  quickly  changed  to  a  flush  of  joy,  as 
she  .looked  up.  He  took  note  of  both  the  pallor  and  the 
flush. 

"Oh,  I  'm  so  glad  it 's  you.     I  thought  —  "  she  stopped. 

"Here  we  go  again,"  he  said,  merrily.  "What  did  you 
think?" 

"Are  you  going  to  paint  now?  May  I  stay  by  and 
watch  you  ?  Do  you  care  ?  " 

"Oh,  don't  throw  away  your  book."  He  sat  down  at 
her  side.  "May  I  see  this?  Ah,  Undine.  Yes  — I  was 
going  to  paint,  and  you  may  watch  me  all  you  like  —  but 
you  did  not  tell  me  what  you  thought." 

She  laughed;  but  again  the  paleness  passed  into  her 
face,  and  was  gone.  "Perhaps  I  did  n't  think." 

"You  said  'I  thought,'  and  stopped,  you  know." 

"Well,  that 's  it.  Don't  you  ever  say  I  think,  when  you 
mean  just  the  opposite?" 


JOYFUL'S  SECRET  147 

"  Come,tell  me  truly,  what  did  you,  or  did  n't  you  think  ?  " 

"You  are  like  old  King  John,  with  his  Abbot,  and  his 
'questions  three':  'But,  tell  me  here  truly  what  I  do 
think,'  only  you  say  'What  you  do  think.'  I  didn't  think 
it  was  you,  that's  all." 

"Then  I'm  very  glad  you  looked  pleasant,  otherwise  I 
should  have  thought  you  were  disappointed  that  I  am  not 
some  one  else." 

"Oh,  no.  I'm  glad.  You  know  I  told  you  so.  What 
are  you  going  to  paint  ?  " 

"I  came  to  ask  if  you  would  be  as  kind  to  me  as  Miss 
Drew  was,  and  let  me  paint  you  ?  " 

"Oh,  will  you?"  she  cried  joyfully.  "Then  I  shall  see 
how  I  would  look  if  I  were  somebody  else.  What  shall  I 
be?" 

Mark  sat  slowly  turning  over  the  leaves  of  the  book  in  his 
hand.  "Do  you  love  this  story?"  he  asked. 

"I  love  it  —  yes.  I  used  to  love  it  when  I  was  so  small 
I  had  to  spell  out  all  the  hard  words  to  mother."  She  took 
the  book  from  his  hand  and  turned  to  her  mother's  name 
written  on  the  flyleaf.  "Father  wrote  that,"  she  said,  and 
kissed  it. 

"Would  you  like  me  to  paint  you  as  Undine?" 

Her  eyes  opened  wide  with  amazement.  "I  couldn't 
dance  in  a  rainbow  mist  for  you." 

"No,  no,"  he  laughed,  and  then  they  both  broke  into 
merry  laughter.  "Undine  was  of  many  moods  and  in 
many  places.  I  would  like  to  paint  a  series  of  pictures 
showing  the  spirit  of  the  tale,  and  it  would  help  me  greatly 
to  find  some  one  who  could  understand  its  true  meaning, 
to  pose  for  me." 


i48  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

"Do  you  think  any  one  could  understand  all  its  real, 
true  meaning?" 

"If  not,  I  would  like  to  find  some  one  who  loves  the  story, 
and  is  capable  of  throwing  herself  into  the  poetic  sentiment 
of  it,  and  that  I  am  sure  you  are." 

"Yes,"  she  cried,  with  simple  directness.  "Shall  we 
begin  now  ?  What  shall  I  wear  ? "  She  rose  and  stood 
straight  and  animated  before  him,  with  laughter  and  light 
in  her  eyes.  "I  did  it  once,  when  I  was  very  small.  It 
was  raining  and  was  dark,  with  just  a  little  flash  of  light- 
ning now  and  then,  and  it  was  warm  summer  time.  I  re- 
member I  climbed  out  of  bed  and  ran  out  in  my  bare  feet 
to  dance  on  the  green  and  shake  the  water  drops  from 
my  hair,  and  rap  on  the  window,  and  make  them  come 
and  see  me  glimmer  in  the  darkness." 

"What  did  they  do?" 

"Oh,  father  came  out  and  ran  after  me,  and  I  dodged 
about,  and  he  caught  me  and  carried  me  in,  all  wet.  I 
remember  feeling  so  sorry  I  could  n't  vanish  and  turn  into 
rain  in  his  arms,  and  then  have  him  find  me  sitting  all 
quietly  in  the  house  when  he  came  in,  as  Undine  would 
have  done.  Mamma  was  going  to  give  me  a  little  whipping, 
but  he  had  only  just  come  home  from  a  voyage  that  day, 
and  so  he  said  no,  and  they  both  took  me  up  to  bed,  and 
put  me  in  dry  clothes,  and  sat  by  me  until  I  went  to 
sleep." 

Mark  opened  his  box  and  began  arranging  his  easel. 
"We  can  paint  right  here,  and  you  must  help  me  as  you 
did  when  Miss  Drew  sat  for  me,  about  planning  the  dress." 

As  she  stood  watching  his  movements,  she  reached  up 
and  caught  a  long  branch  of  wild  grapevine  that  hung  above 


JOYFUL'S   SECRET  149 

her  head,  and  clung  to  it,  swaying  back  and  forth  in  the  rain 
of  golden  sunlight.  Mark  looked  up,  and  saw  his  pose. 

"There,  stand  as  you  are,"  he  cried.  "It  could  n't  be 
better."  He  placed  himself  on  the  shadowed  side  of  her 
and  began  rapidly  to  catch  the  salient  points  of  his  picture, 
ere  she  should  grow  weary. 

For  a  time  he  worked  in  silence  with  knitted  brows,  as  if 
his  very  life  depended  on  each  stroke  of  his  brush ;  while 
she  swayed  to  and  fro,  clinging  to  the  vine,  and  watching 
his  face  with  serious  eyes.  Her  thoughts  were  filled  with 
many  grave  wonderings  now,  about  the  story  for  which 
she  was  posing ;  about  him  and  the  lady  whose  face  he  had 
drawn  in  his  notebook ;  and  thus  a  half  hour  was  passed 
ere  he  awoke  to  the  thought  of  the  physical  tension  under 
which  he  was  keeping  her. 

"I  wish  I  could  be  in  front  of  you  and  behind  you  too, 
so  I  could  see  what  you're  doing,"  she  said,  at  last.  "If 
I  were  Undine,  I  would  dissolve  in  a  thousand  sparkling 
drops,  and  then  if  I  did  n't  like  it,  I  would  shake  them  all 
over  you  and  your  picture.  How  would  you  like  that?" 

He  started  from  his  abstraction,  and  saw,  with  contrition, 
that  she  looked  pale  and  weary.  "My  child  !  I  have  done 
very  wrong.  You  are  tired.  Come,  yes  —  come  and  see 
this.  It  won't  look  like  anything  to  you  yet."  He  made  her 
sit  on  his  stool,  and  lean  back  against  a  tree  trunk.  His 
gentle  manner  of  solicitude  made  her  think  of  her  father, 
and  she  looked  up  in  his  face  instead  of  at  the  picture. 

"What  do  you  think  of  it,  Miss  Joyful  ?"  he  said  kindly, 
bending  toward  her. 

Her  lips  quivered.  She  struggled  bravely  for  a  moment 
to  regain  the  mastery  over  herself,  then  suddenly  covering 


iSo  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

her  face  with  her  hands  she  turned  away,  and  leaned  against 
the  rough  tree  behind  her  in  a  passion  of  weeping.  The 
nervous  strain  under  which  she  had  been  for  the  past  two 
weeks  had  culminated  in  this. 

Mark  with  difficulty  restrained  himself  from  gathering 
her  up  in  his  arms,  in  his  tenderness  toward  the  weeping 
child.  What  should  he  do?  What  had  he  done?  At 
last  he  lightly  touched  her  hair. 

"Miss  Joyful,  don't,  don't.  Were  you  too  tired?  I 
was  a  thoughtless  brute." 

She  was  ashamed  to  cry  before  him,  and  could  not  lift 
her  face.  No,  she  was  n't  tired,  and  he  was  n't  a  brute.  She 
would  stand  for  him  again  in  a  minute.  It  was  something 
else  — she  couldn't  tell  him.  She  didn't  know  herself 
what  it  was.  So  he  sat  apart  on  the  seat  in  the  beech 
tree,  and  read  her  books,  and  waited  for  her  to  grow  calm. 
One' was  an  old  copy  of  Spenser's  "Faerie  Queene,"  and  he 
began  the  quaint  phrases  describing  Una,  Joyful's  sweet 
"Ladye  Faire."  Presently  he  glanced  up  and  saw  that 
she  was  gazing  at  his  picture.  ^  ^ 

"Well,"  he  smiled  on  her,  "what  do  you  think  of  it? 
Mark  never  forgot  her  face  as  it  was  at  that  moment  —  a 
very  April  of  laughter  breaking  over  it,  while  her  eyes  yet 

swam  in  tears. 

"I  think  I  look  a  very  funny,  dauby  Undine  there  now. 
What  are  those  long  streaks  of  blue  hanging  down?" 

"That?    Oh,  that's  to  be  her  dress." 

"Oh,  are  you  going  to  make  it  like  this  I  have  on?" 
*"Yes,  almost.     It's  simple  and  good,  why  not?" 

"Why,  I  thought  it  would  be  all  swinging  and  swirling 
about  like  waves  in  a  brook  whe^  they  come  to  a  stone." 


JOYFUL'S  SECRET  151 

"Oh,  but  you  must  remember  that  the  good  people  had 
dressed  her  in  human  garments  like  a  sensible  little  peasant. 
This  dress  you  have  on  is  simple  and  straight  —  I  '11  put  a 
kerchief  around  the  neck." 

"You  must  be  right,  but  —  don't  you  think  she  might 
put  on  something  herself  —  that  the  wind  would  toss  about  ? 
Blue  is  all  right,  like  the  blue  water.  I  see  what  you  mean 
by  all  those  yellow  patches  falling  about  her  —  a  kind  of 
rain  of  light  —  isn't  it?" 

"Yes,  Miss  Joyful.  Your  intuitive  sense  may  help  me 
much.  Now  tell  me  how  you  would  dress  her." 

"I  think  even  if  they  did  dress  her  like  the  peasant 
children,  she  would  still  be  different.  She  would  find  a 
long  shining  scarf  or  something  that  she  could  hang  about 
her  that  would  make  you  think  of  mist.  I  '11  show  you." 
She  darted  off  among  the  great  trees  in  the  direction  of  the 
cottage.  "I'll  be  back  in  a  minute,"  she  cried. 

Mark  busied  himself  in  bringing  order  out  01  the  confused 
masses  of  color  on  his  convas.  He  was  disturbed  by  her 
sudden  outburst  of  tears,  and  had  decided  to  probe  more 
deeply  into  the  mysteries  of  her  strange,  wise  child's  soul, 
when  she  came  swiftly  back,  her  hair  shaken  out  and 
floating  in  the  wind.  A  long,  diaphanous  cloud  wound 
about  her  head  and,  lightly  twisted  among  the  brown 
curling  masses  of  her  hair,  fell  to  her  feet.  It  was  a  rare  and 
ample  web,  shot  with  delicate  tints  of  azure  and  gold  and 
rose  and  green.  Her  slight  figure  and  straight  blue  skirt 
were  both  concealed  and  revealed  by  its  shifting,  floating 
presence.  Mark  stared  in  amazement. 

"This  is  what  I  think.  Undine  might  have  had  some- 
thing like  this,  made  out  of  rainbows,  which  she  would  keep 


152  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

hidden  away  under  the  waterfall,  to  take  out  and  hang 
around  her  when  she  sported  among  the  shadows  at  sunset." 

"Miss  Joyful,  wherever  did  you  get  such  a  wonderful 
web  as  that?" 

"It  was  mother's.  Father  brought  it  from  away  off 
somewhere.  I  suppose  I  ought  not  to  take  it,  but  it 's  mine 
See.  Will  this  be  like  Undine  before  her  lover  came?" 
She  hung  swaying  again,  clinging  to  the  wild  vine  as  before, 
but  with  a  wistful  look  in  her  eyes. 

"It's  perfect,  perfect,  Miss  Joyful.  How  do  you  think 
she  should  look  after  her  lover  came  ?"  A  light  had  begun 
to  break  in  on  Mark's  understanding. 

"Why,  she  would  —  perhaps  she  would  be  sad  then." 

"Is  that  the  way  a  maiden  feels  when  she  has  a  lover?" 

She  swung  half  around  away  from  him  and  gazed  up  into 
the  top  of  the  beech.  "I  know  where  there's  a  whip- 
poorwnTs  nest,"  she  said,  but  in  her  heart  she  was  wonder- 
ing if  Mark  himself  were  a  lover.  "He  would  make  a 
fine  one,  and  a  true  knight,  too,  since  he  was  a  fighter  of 
the  monsters,"  she  thought. 

Mark  glanced  toward  her  as  he  worked  on.  "  You  did  n't 
answer  my  question,"  he  said  gravely. 

"I  can't.  You  know  that.  It 's  different  in  these  days. 
Then  lovers  had  to  ride  away  and  fight,  and  achieve  some 
very  hard  thing,  to  win  a  maiden's  heart." 

"And  what  do  they  have  to  do  nowadays?" 

"I  don't  know  how  it  is  out  there  in  your  old  world," 
she  said,  laughing.  "You  should  tell  me  that.  Are  n't  you 
a  lover  ?  I  suppose  every  man  has  to  be,  sometime." 

"Why,  Miss  Joyful?"  * 

"Because.    Undine  found  her  soul,  you  know,  when  she 


JOYFUL'S  SECRET  153 

loved.  What  are  you  fighting  monsters  for  if  you  aren  't  a 
lover?" 

"Ah,  there  you  have  me,  Miss  Joyful." 

"But  you  don't  answer  me." 

Mark  looked  at  his  watch.  "You  mustn't  stand  any 
longer  to-day;  you  will  be  exhausted.  You've  taken  that 
position  for  me  more  than  an  hour.  Sit  here  on  this  seat 
and  I  '11  make  a  bargain  with  you.  If  you  '11  tell  me  why 
you  wept  a  while  ago,  I  '11  answer  your  question  truly." 

"I  can't  tell  you  exactly  why,  because  I  don't  know,  my- 
self, but  —  something  troubles  me  which  I  can't  tell  grand- 
mother. Don't  ask  me  any  more;  I'm  afraid  I  shall  cry 
again,"  and  again  came  the  April  laughter  with  tears  behind. 

Mark  set  a  strong  restraint  upon  himself  to  cover  his 
most  normal  tenderness  toward  the  child.  "I  won't  tor- 
ment you  to  tell  me,  if  you  don't  wish  it,"  he  said  very 
gently,  "but  would  n't  it  be  well  for  you  to  tell  your  'Ladye 
Faire'  about  it?" 

"Oh,  I  can't!"  cried  Joyful,  with  a  burning  blush  of 
shame.  The  more  she  thought  of  her  ardent  lover  of  the 
evening  before,  the  .more  she  shrank  from  speaking  of  him. 

Mark,  with  genuine  anxiety  for  her,  felt  the  truth,  but 
he  covered  her  confusion,  leading  her  away  for  the  time 
being  into  a  pleasant  path  of  speculation. 

"Now  it 's  my  turn,"  he  said,  looking  into  her  face  smil- 
ingly. "Only  since  you  tell  me  but  half,  I  shall  tell  you 
but  half  and  leave  you  to  guess  the  rest  as  you  leave  me  to 
do ;  but  first,  answer  me  one  more  question.  Why  do  you 
think  every  man  must  be  a  lover  sometime  ? " 

"Half  the  time  I  think  things  without  knowing  why  I 
think  them,  but  is  n't  it  so  ?  Must  n't  a  man  be  a  true 


154  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

lover  of  some  one  or  something  before  he  ever  achieves 
anything?  Isn't  that  what  it  means  to  be  a  lover  or  a 
true  knight?" 

"Yes,  Miss  Joyful,  yes.  But  few  ever  learn  that  sacred 
truth."  They  were  silent  then,  and  Mark  sat  with  hands 
clasped  about  his  knee,  his  gaze  fixed  on  a  bunch  of  wild 
violets  before  him,  thinking  of  a  way  that  led  to  another 
place  and  another  face,  and  wondering  if  he  could  ever 
reach  his  ideals  along  that  path. 

Joyful  brought  him  back  by  speaking  again.  "I  don't 
think  Undine's  lover  was  much  of  a  true  knight,  after 
all  —  do  you  ?  " 

"No,  no,  Miss  Joyful." 

"And  after  she  found  her  soul  she  was  so  sad,  and  before 
that  she  was  joyous  —  just  like  that  little  finch  up  there." 

Mark  looked  at  the  bird.  "Yes.  Wouldn't  she  have 
been  better  off  without  her  soul,  then  ? " 

She  smiled.  "That  was  what  I  used  to  think,  but 
now  —  now  that  father  and  mother  are  gone,  I  understand. 
You  see,  my  father  was  a  true  knight.  He  rescued  her 
as  a  knight  should,  and  they  were  true,  true  lovers,  beautiful 
to  think  about.  I  think  about  them  many  times  at  night." 
She  drew  a  long,  tremulous  sigh,  half  a  sob.  "I  like  to 
have  them  to  think  about,  and  now  they  have  each  other 
still,  but  if  they  were  n't  souls,  you  know,  they  would  have 
gone  out,  and  I  would  not  have  them  any  more,  either." 

"You  are  a  poet,  Miss  Joyful,  and  you  have  found  out  the 
true  secret  of  life."  He  lifted  his  height  from  the  low  seat, 
and  began  putting  his  tools  together.  It  was  near  noon, 
and  his  light  was  all  changed.  He  could  paint  no  more. 

"Are  you  going  ?     But  you  have  n't  told  me  yet." 


JOYFUL'S  SECRET  155 

"So  I  have  n't,"  he  said,  scraping  vigorously  at  his 
palette.  "No.  Well,  I  am  a  lover  in  one  sense  —  of  every- 
thing that  is  beautiful,  so  far  I  can  say  yes  —  and  I  can  say 
also  that  I  'm  a  true  knight  to  do  battle  for  it,  or  hope  to  be. 
But-  He  waited,  and  she  turned  her  glowing,  expec- 
tant face  toward  his.  He  looked  down  at  her.  "Ah, 
thus  must  I  make  Undine  look  at  her  lover."  He  thought 
he  would  try  to  remember  the  pose  and  expression. 

"But  what,  Mr.  Thorn?"  she  cried  eagerly. 

"I  said  I  should  tell  you  only  half.  You  must  guess  the 
rest,  Miss  Joyful." 

"Ah,  ha !  If  this  is  half,  there  must  be  as  much  more. 
Surely  you  are  a  lover,  surely.  You  must  be,  you  know, 
to  be  any  good." 

He  laughed  out  now.  "You  are  a  romantic  maiden. 
Miss  Joyful.  Why  must  I  be  a  lover  to  be  any  good  ?" 

"  Oh,  you  know  you  must.  It 's  one  of  the  things  I  think, 
but  can't  explain.  To  love  beauty  —  that 's  all  right;  you 
must,  to  be  an  artist ;  but  to  be  great,  truly,  must  n't  you 
be  a  lover  of  a  soul?  A  soul  must  be  greater  than  just 
beauty,  or  Undine  would  have  been  enough  without  it. 
She  had  wondrous  beauty,  you  know.  Everything  around 
us  has  beauty  —  this  has,"  she  stooped  and  picked  a  violet 
from  the  cluster  at  her  feet  and  held  it  out  to  him.  He 
took  it,  but  his  eyes  were  fixed  on  her  radiant  face.  He 
dropped  it  in  his  box  and,  gathering  his  scattered  brushes, 
closed  it  in  with  them. 

Joyful  leaned  back  against  the  beech  trunk,  with  the  old 
wistful  look  in  her  eyes.  "Oh,  I  have  thought  about  it 
often  and  often.  I  know  I  am  right,  Mr.  Thorn  —  I  feel 
as  if  my  mother  had  told  me  this." 


156;  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

Mark  longed  to  learn  more  of  the  secret  before  he  left 
her.  He  connected  her  outburst  of  tears  with  Jack  Stod- 
dard's  return  to  Woodbury  Center.  Surely  she  must  be 
saved  from  him,  he  thought.  He  put  up  his  traps  carefully, 
and  then  stood  a  moment  looking  down  at  her,  his  heavy 
brows  drawn  together. 

"Yes,  Miss  Joyful,  you're  surely  right  in  that,  but  now 
—  let  me  ask  you  once  more  to  go  with  that  trouble  of 
yours  —  whatever  it  is  —  to  your  'Ladye  Faire.'  Tell 
her  all  about  it,  won't  you?" 

Again  the  color  rushed  into  her  face.  "Oh,  I  can't  —  I 
can't !  I  could  tell  you  easier  than  any  one  else  —  I  don't 
know  why  —  but  I  could." 

"Then  tell  me,"  he  said  gladly,  sitting  again  at  her  side. 
"Tell  me  as  if  you  were  my  little  true  friend."  Uncon- 
sciously he  put  out  his  hand  to  draw  her  toward  him,  but 
as  quickly  held  it  back. 

"You  know  Nathanael  Stoddard?" 

"Yes." 

"It's  his  brother.  He's  my  lover  —  and  oh,  I  don't 
want  him  to  be.  I  'm  afraid  it 's  wrong  of  me,  but  I  can't, 
I  can't." 

"Wrong  of  you?"  exclaimed  Mark,  strangely  moved, 
and  still  glad  at  heart.  "Certainly  not,  my  child.  Why  is 
it  wrong?" 

"Because  —  because  —  Oh,  I've  thought  it  all  out - 
he  must  be  a  lover  to  be  a  good  man,  and  so  I  'm  afraid  I 
ought  to  say  yes,  but  I  can't.  I  've  known  him  always, 
too,  and  we  've  been  friends,  always  —  but  I  can't,"  she 
murmured,  between  sobs.  "I  might  ask  grandfather,  but 
he  'd  be  angry,  I  know,  and  say  something  cruel  to  Jack, 


JOYFUL'S   SECRET  157 

and  it  would  be  my  fault.  I  can't  tell  grandmother,  and 
I  can't  tell  Elizabeth." 

"My  dear  —  dear  —  little  friend,"  Mark  said,  and 
stopped.  She  looked  up  questioningly  in  his  face.  "  What 's 
the  reason  you  can't  tell  Miss  Drew  or  her  mother,  Miss 
Joyful?" 

She  turned  her  face  away  again.  "  Because  I  'm  ashamed. 
Oh,  dear,  —  can't  you  see  ?  Why  do  you  ask  me  ?" 

"But  why  should  you  be?" 

"I  don't  know;  but  I  am.  I  always  thought  maidens 
were  very  happy  when  they  had  lovers,  but  I  'm  not. 
Something  must  be  wrong  about  it." 

Mark  pondered.  Why  should  this  lovely  little  one  be 
left  so  alone  ?  At  last  he  said :  "I  '11  tell  you  what  I  think 
about  it.  You  should  tell  this  Jack,  or  whoever  he  is,  that 
he  must  do  some  great,  good  thing  first,  to  prove  that  he  is 
really  a  true  lover,  and  a  brave  knight,  as  the  maidens  did 
of  old.  I  think  that 's  a  very  good  way  for  maidens  to  do, 
myself  —  it  would  save  them  a  great  deal  of  unhappiness 
if  they  would  all  do  it  in  these  days  —  and  you  follow  your 
own  heart.  Don't  let  him  or  any  one  else  persuade  you 
against  it.  Now  remember.  Perhaps  he 's  no  true  lover. 
Let  him  show  his  colors  first.  I  have  no  right  to  ask  it  — 
but  I  wish  I  might  have  your  promise  to  this.  It 's  very 
important  for  you."  He  rose  and  again  stood  looking  down 
at  her.  "Miss  Joyful,  will  you  tell  me  or  your  'Ladye 
Faire'  if  he  continues  to  come  to  you?" 

She  gathered  the  rainbow  clouds  of  her  scarf  about  her, 
and  tossed  back  her  heavy  hair.  "Yes,  yes,"  she  said 
quickly,  "I  promise.  He  said  he  was  going  off  to  be  gone 
a  year,  perhaps  two,  so  I  sha'  n't  see  him  for  a  long  time.  If 


158  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY' 

he  were  great  like  the  knights  of  old,  I  would  n't  have  to 
promise  him  anything  yet,  would  I  ?  But  —  if  he  should 
achieve  some  great  good  thing,"  she  cried  in  dismay, 
"what  should  I  do  then?" 

"Don't  be  in  the  least  troubled  about  that  now.  Then 
will  be  soon  enough,"  he  replied,'  with  inward  amusement. 
"By  that  time  you  will  have  more  wisdom,  you  know." 
He  gave  her  his  hand.  "Thank  you  for  this  sitting.  I  've 
two  more  ideas  for  Undine.  May  I  come  to  you  again?" 

"  Indeed,  yes.  I  love  to  stand  for  you.  And  —  and  — 
thank  you  for  caring,  and  helping  me." 

Mark  thought  her  a  veritable  Undine,  as  she  passed  on, 
now  in  shadow  and  now  in  light,  toward  the  cottage.  Then 
he  started  off  through  the  woods,  absorbed  in  an  artist's 
reverie. 


CHAPTER  X 

A  MYSTERIOUS  ASSAULT 

"  O  !  Goodly  golden  chayne,  wherewith  yfere 
The  vertues  linked  are  in  lovely  wize ; 
And  noble  mindes  of  yore  allyed  were. 
In  brave  persuitt  of  chevalrous  emprize, 
That  none  did  others  safety  despize, 
Nor  aid  envy  to  him,  in  need  that  stands ; 
But  friendly  each  did  others  praise  devize, 
How  to  advaunce  with  favourable  hands, 

As  this  good  prence  redeemed  the  Redcrosse  knight  from  bauds." 

—  The  Faerie  Queene. 

IT  was  near  the  middle  of  that  afternoon,  when  Mr. 
Somers  drove  along  the  wagon  way  toward  Heatherby's 
cove.  The  old  man  had  brought  home  a  small  draught  of 
fish,  which  Somers  was  to  haul  over  to  Willoiighby  Junc- 
tion. Leisurely,  as  usual,  he  jogged  along,  giving  an  occa- 
tional  flap  to  the  reins  as  a  reminder  to  the  mare  of  his 
presence,  which  brought  only  the  customary  response  of  a 
jerk  of  the  tail  to  the  sleepy  suggestion  for  more  speed. 
The  animal  hung  her  head  low,  and  seemed  wholly  occupied 
with  the  attentions  of  a  single  fly,  earliest  harbinger  of  the 
swarms  to  come  later  on,  which  buzzed  about  her  ears 
with  unremitting  teasing,  thus  fulfilling  its  mission  in  life 
of  keeping  the  mare  awake,  and  her  brain  in  a  state  of 
activity. 

Suddenly  the  beast,  hitherto  supposed  to  be  absolutely 
impervious  to  the  sensation  of  fear,  gave  a  frightened 


i6o  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

snort,  and  swerved  violently  to  one  side,  galloping  off  at  a 
tangent,  with  unwonted  fire,  until  she  brought  up  with  a 
jerk  as  the  spring  wagon  became  locked  between  two 
trees. 

"Whoa,  Fan.  Ye  dum  beast,  what  ails  ye?"  cried  Mr. 
Somers,  as  he  sat  on  the  high  seat,  much  shaken  up  by  the 
quick  bouncing  over  stumps  and  ruts.  "Why,  what  ails 
ye,  Fan?"  he  asked  again,  staring  about,  but  the  mare 
gave  no  answer.  She  had  quickly  recovered  from  her 
fright,  and  was  struggling  after  a  tuft  of  grass  just  beyond 
the  reach  of  her  nose. 

"Must  'a  been  sump'n.  Never  see  the  critter  act  so." 
He  climbed  slowly  down,  and  proceeded  to  tie  her  fast. 
"Ye  can't  get  away  's  I  see,  but  the's  no  tellin'  what  ye  will 
do,  takin'  such  a  contrary  idee  into  ye're  head."  He  went 
all  about  the  animal,  examining  her  headstall,  her  ears, 
and  every  strap  and  buckle.  Then  he  stood  and  ruminated 
a  few  minutes.  "Must  'a  been  sump'n  scared  her  back 
there,"  he  said,  and  sauntered  away  to  investigate. 

Nothing  to  be  seen  on  the  road  —  no  sign  of  living  thing. 
Presently  he  discovered  the  artist's  color  box  and  easel 
on  the  other  side,  and  a  little  farther  in  the  woods  a  gray 
heap  lying  beside  a  huge  moss-covered  bowlder,  on  a  bed 
of  ferns  and  wild-wood  vines.  As  he  approached  the  spot, 
a  slow  fear  crept  and  grew  upon  him,  until  at  last  he  bent 
over  the  heap,  drawn,  fascinated,  with  rising  hair  and 
chattering  teeth,  his  whole  lean  frame  quivering  as  with  an 
ague. 

A  man  was  lying  there  as  if  he  had  been  thrown.  His 
coat  had  been  spread  over  his  face  and  hands,  but  his 
hair,  clotted  with  blood,  showed  underneath  the  collar. 


A  MYSTERIOUS  ASSAULT  161 

Somers  stood  paralyzed,  not  daring  to  lift  the  coat 
and  look  in  a  dead  man's  face.  Then  he  turned  and 
fled  back  to  the  road,  and  running  frantically,  set  up  a  long 
quavering  halloo  —  then  another  and  another.  At  last  a 
workman  in  the  farthest  recesses  of  the  wood,  whom 
Elizabeth  had  hired  to  trim  out  dead  timber,  heard  the  call. 
Its  note  of  terror  struck  through  his  thick  skull,  and  he 
came  running. 

"What  ails  ye?"  cried  Somers,  dancing  about  in  the 
middle  of  the  road  in  a  kind  of  frenzy.  "  What  ails  ye  to  be 
so  long  a-comin'  ?  Look  there.  There 's  been  a  murder. 
Lift  up  the  coat,  will  ye,  'nd  see  who  't  is."  The  more 
phlegmatic  workman  went  heavily  forward  and  lifted  the 
coat,  while  Somers  stood  aloof.  Then  he  knelt  and  felt  of 
the  prostrate  form  —  lifted  the  hands  and  dropped  them 
again,  and  laid  his  ear  to  the  heart. 

"Come  along,  he  's  not  dead,"  he  said  at  last. 

Then  as  suddenly  as  Mr.  Somers'  fear  had  come  upon 
him  it  left  him,  and  he  grew  sane,  and  his  normal  kindness 
and  gentleness  returned  to  him. 

"Why,  I  declare  'ts  that  painter  'ts  stoppin'  over  to  our 
house.  Take  care.  Don't  haul  him  around  till  ye  know 
where  he 's  hurt.  I  '11  back  the  horse  out,  'nd  we  '11  take 
him  over  to  Heatherby's." 

They  looked  about  them  and  perceived  that  close  to  the 
road  the  bushes  had  been  broken  and  trampled,  and  that 
the  wounded  man  had  been  dragged  across  to  the  spot 
where  they  had  found  him.  What  could  it  all  mean? 
Somers  stirred  himself,  and  after  much  backing  and  coaxing, 
and  lifting  of  the  hind  end  of  the  wagon  about,  the  horse 
and  vehicle  were  at  last  brought  near  where  they  could  lift 


162  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

the  unconscious  man  in,  and  he  was  carried  quickly  on  the 
short  distance  to  Heatherby's  cove. 

"How  's  this?"  called  the  old  man,  as  he  stood  waiting 
beside  his  hamper  of  fish,  which  he  had  long  since  packed 
and  brought  from  the  boat.  "Ain't  ye  putty  late? 
Calc'late  't  ye  c'n  make  the  night  train?" 

"I  got  a  queer  load  f'r  ye  this  time,"  cried  Somers,  in 
agitated  tones.  "Brought  ye  that  painter  'bout  done  to 
death,  yonder  in  th'  woods." 

"For  the  Land's  sakes!"  exclaimed  grandmother 
Heatherby,  bringing  her  ample  figure  close  to  the  spring 
wagon.  "It's  Mr.  Thorn.  Whatever  in  this  world! 
Joy,  Joy,"  she  called,  running  back  to  the  gate,  "put  on  the 
tea  kettle  'nd  get  some  boilin'  water  's  quick  's  ye  can. 
Here,  father,  you  make  these  men  stir  themselves  'nd 
get  him  up  to  bed  quick  —  'nd  Somers,  you  just  hustle  in 
that  basket  of  fish  'nd  get  over  to  Willoughby  Junction  's 
fast 's  ye're  mare  '11  run,  'nd  fetch  Dr.  Welch.  He  's  gone 
over  there  to  see  a  woman.  Now  be  careful,  father,  don't 
let  his  head  hang  over  so.  Let  me  —  there."  And  so  the 
poor  limp  figure  was  gently  carried  up  to  the  neatest  little 
white  spare  room,  and  laid  on  the  best  bed. 

And  there  he  was  restored  to  consciousness,  and  ten- 
derly nursed,  and  when  the  doctor  came  and  dressed  his 
wounds,  and  said  to  the  old  lady,  "It'll  be  several  weeks 
before  he  can  be  removed.  Shall  I  send  you  a  nurse  ?" 
her  reply  was,  "He 's  all  right  where  he  is,  'nd  I  never  saw 
the  time  yet  when  I  needed  help  takin'  care  of  the  sick." 

"Marthy,"  called  the  old  man,  from  the  foot  of  the 
stairway,  "hadn't  you  better  let  the  doctor  fetch  along 
some  one  to  help  you  ?  " 


A  MYSTERIOUS  ASSAULT  163 

"No.  I  calc'late  't  I  'm  spry  enough  yet  to  nurse  him, 
Jnd  I  'd  rather  not  have  a  stranger  rummagin'  th'  house,  'nd 
standin'  round  in  my  way." 

"Well,  better  let  'er  have  it 's  she  wants.  Marthy  always 
does  know  what 's  best." 

The  doctor  quietly  stepped  back  into  the  room  and 
closed  the  door  after  him.  "Young  man,"  he  said,  bending 
over  Mark  gravely,  "  is  there  anything  you  would  like 
to  say  about  this?" 

Mark  slowly  opened  his  eyes,  and  a  little  smile  lighted  his 
pallid  face.  "No,  I  guess  not,  thank  you."  Then,  noting 
a  frown  of  suspicion  darken  the  physician's  face,  he  added 
weakly  —  "Better  not  say  much,  if  you  can  avoid  it, 
Doctor.  You  see  —  it  was  —  a  mistake.  The  fellow  who 
—  struck  me  —  was  —  laboring  under  a  —  hallucination. 
I  think  he  —  he  was  scarcely  responsible  —  and  at  any 
rate  —  I  bear  him  no  ill  will." 

But  the  doctor  seemed  not  to  be  satisfied.  "This  is  a 
grave  matter,  sir,"  he  said.  "I  have  a  certain  responsibility 
to  discharge,  and  your  kin  folks  may  demand  more  of  me 
than  the  explanation  you  have  given." 

"I  see  —  but  —  I'm  in  no  danger  —  not  dangerously 
hurt?" 

"Not  unless  you  have  some  internal  injury  that  has  not 
appeared  yet,  but  two  broken  bones  and  a  cracked  skull 
show  pretty  rough  handling." 

"I  was  taken  unawares,  or  he  wouldn't  have  succeeded 
so  well,"  said  Mark,  with  a  touch  of  chagrin. 

"To  strike  a  man  unawares  is  foul  play." 

"Ah,  yes.  Well,  never  mind  my  relatives,  Doctor, 
I  '11  take  care  of  them,  and  as  for  any  internal  injuries,  I 


164  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

guess  I  'm  all  sound.  What  bones  are  broken  ?  I  must  have 
been  wandering  when  you  fixed  me  up." 

"Your  upper  left  arm  and  collar  bone,  both.  The  arm 
is  a  bad  fracture.  What  were  you  struck  with?" 

"I  don't  know.  I  hardly  had  time  to  look  at  the  fellow 
before  I  was  gone." 

"You  were  struck  on  the  arm  and  on  the  head.  You 
must  have  broken  your  collar  bone  when  you  fell.  Are  you 
sure  you  know  who  attacked  you  ?  " 

"Now,  Doctor,  about  that  —  I  know  well  enough,  but 
I  have  good  reasons  —  honorable  ones  —  not  for  his  sake, 
nor  my  own — .  Nothing  can  be  gained  by  following  it 
up  but  trouble  for  parties  who  are  in  no  way  to  blame. 
Just  —  kindly  shut  up  —  the  fellows  who  found  —  me,  will 
you?  Tell  them  what  you  please  —  but  shut  them  up. 
I  trust  to  —  your  courtesy  to  do  this  for  me." 

Dr.  Welch  was  a  gray-haired,  punctilious  man  of  the  old 
school,  who  was  as  much  an  institution  in  the  village  as 
the  gray  stone  church,  the  rector,  or  the  Drews.  He  bowed, 
took  up  his  black  leather  case,  and  turned  away.  "Let  me 
caution  you  against  any  excitement,  or  using  any  stimulant, 
other  than  that  I  have  ordered  in  case  the  heart  action  runs 
low  —  which  is  not  likely."  Pausing  at  the  door  he  looked 
back  and  hesitated,  then  gently  closed  it  after  him.  "I  '11 
call  again  in  the  morning,"  he  said  to  Mrs.  Heatherby. 
"Keep  him  in  absolute  quiet.  Best  not  question  him  — 
he  's  weak  now.  Let  him  wait.  Good  day." 

Day  after  day,  in  silence,  Mark  lay  in  the  darkened 
room.  Sometimes  his  mind  wandered  a  little,  but  usually 
he  was  quite  himself.  Tended  carefully  by  the  old  lady, 
who  softly  bustle^  in  and  out  ministering  to  his  necessities 


A  MYSTERIOUS  ASSAULT  165 

with  plump,  motherly  hands  that  had  dimples  in  them  like 
a  baby's,  Mark  felt  himself  growing  to  love  her,  but  he 
found  words  too  mean  and  small  to  express  his  thanks,  so 
he  was  still.  "  Hers  is  the  sweet,  placid  courtesy  with  which 
angels  must  minister,  only  not  so  cold  and  far  away,"  he 
thought.  Once,  when  she  was  adjusting  the  bandages 
about  his  head,  he  kissed  the  hand  which  came  so  near  his 
lips.  The  kiss  brought  a  pink  flush  into  the  smooth  old 
cheek. 

"There,  now,  Mr.  Thorn.  Bless  yer  heart,  ye  're  bein' 
a  baby." 

"You  're  too  good  to  me,  and  I  have  no  words  with  which 
to  thank  you." 

Her  firm  mouth  grew  very  tender,  and  her  lip  quivered 
slightly.  "  It 's  not  thanks  I  'm  needin'.  Have  n't  I  nursed 
a  boy  of  my  own?  Now  you  just  sleep  a  bit,"  and  she 
went  out.  Ah,  the  secrets  of  a  mother's  heart !  She  was 
waiting  on  her  boy  —  bringing  him  back  to  her  touch  — 
opening  her  heart  to  the  stranger,  because  it  had  so  long 
ached  for  him.  Never  before  had  Mark  heard  her  mention 
him.  She  buried  her  sorrow  in  her  great  heart  and  was 
silent. 

Sometimes  Mark  heard  the  old  man's  'hearty  voice 
downstairs,  and  sometimes,  as  he  grew  stronger,  they  visited 
together.  He  never  saw  Joyful,  but  he  heard  her  light 
step  pass  his  door  many  times  a  day.  She  seemed  to  have 
grown  strangely  silent.  He  never  heard  her  sing,  now,  and 
scarcely  could  he  hear  the  tones  of  her  voice,  it  was  so  low. 
She  was  always  busy  at  the  household  tasks,  while  her 
grandmother  was  caring  for  Mark.  She  was  glad  to  do  this 
and  did  not  seem  unhappy,  but  she  was  grave,  and  seemed  to 


166  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

have  suddenly  grown  older.  Her  grandfather  noticed  the 
change,  and  thinking  she  was  not  well,  persuaded  her  when 
he  could,  to  come  out  with  him  while  he  worked  about  his 
boat  and  the  little  pier;  but  she  spent  most  of  her  days 
quietly  working  in  the  cottage  and  garden,  and  every  morn- 
ing a  few  fresh  flowers  which  she  had  gathered  were  brought 
up  to  Mark. 

One  day,  about  three  weeks  after  his  hurt,  Joyful  brought 
up  his  breakfast.  It  was  the  first  time  he  had  seen  her, 
and  his  face  lighted  with  pleasure.  He  was  much  stronger 
and  had  begun  to  feel  that  he  need  not  cause  so  much 
trouble. 

"It's  a  shame  for  you  and  your  grandmother  to  have 
to  wait  on  me  in  this  way,"  he  said.  "I  'm  quite  able  to 
come  down,  and  if  I  could  only  get  the  bandage  off  this  arm, 
I  could  help  myself." 

"Grandmother  won't  be  able  to  see  you  to-day,"  she 
replied.  "But  you  must  n't  mind  our  waiting  on  you.  It 
would  be  very  cruel  in  us  not  to."  She  looked  at  him 
pityingly ;  his  face  had  grown  so  white  and  thin  with  the 
confinement,  and  his  dark,  unshaven  chin  only  made  him 
look  the  more  haggard.  "It  was  dreadful  for  you  to  be 
hurt,  and  you  might  have  died,  if  Mr.  Somers  had  n't  found 
you.  Is  there  anything  more  I  can  bring  you?"  She 
stood  looking  critically  at  the  food  she  had  placed  before 
him.  "Oh,  your  poor  hand  is  tied  so  you  can't  use  it. 
1 11  butter  your  roll  and  open  your  egg  for  you.  Grand- 
father took  his  boat  out  yesterday.  You  know  he  must, 
now  and  then,  while  the  weather 's  good.  Sometimes,  when 
he  has  a  good  catch,  he  stays  late.  He  has  n't  come  back 
yet,  and  so  —  you  remember  I  told  you  a  little  about  my 


A  MYSTERIOUS  ASSAULT  167 

grandmother  —  it  always  makes  her  sick  when  he  does  n't 
come  back  at  night  —  and  she 's  so  bad  to-day.  I  hope 
he  '11  come  soon." 

"I  hope  so,  indeed,  Miss  Joyful.  Thank  you.  Don't 
make  yourself  more  trouble  and  work,  waiting  on  me,  when 
she  needs  you.  I  'm  learning  to  be  quite  expert  with  my 
one  hand.  I  '11  be  able  to  do  a  little  work  soon,  I  think. 
See  here,  Miss  Joyful,  why  are  you  so  grave  ?  Is  it  any  of 
the  trouble  we  were  speaking  of  that  day?" 

She  smiled  a  wan  little  smile.     "No,  not  that." 

"Is  it  because  you're  afraid  your  grandfather  has  met 
with  an  accident?" 

"No,  Mr.  Thorn.  He  always  comes  back,  he's  such  a 
good  sailor,  and  he  always  has  Jasper  with  him." 

"Who  is  Jasper?" 

"He  's  a  man  who  has  sailed  with  grandfather  for  years 
and  years.  He  lives  in  that  little  hut  away  out  on  the 
point.  You've  seen  it.  He  never  comes  here,  nor  sees 
any  one  but  grandfather.  He  always  goes  with  him,  and 
then  leaves  in  his  little  boat  and  rows  to  the  point  when 
they  come  home,  and  grandfather  comes  in  the  rest  of  the 
way  alone.  We  make  his  bread  for  him.  He  thinks  he 
is  a  hermit." 

"Does  anybody  ever  visit  him?" 

"He  won't  let  them  in  if  they  do  —  only  grandfather." 

"But  that  does  n't  tell  me  why  you  are  sad,  Miss  Joyful. 
Is  it  your  grandmother  being  ill?" 

"No,  she  always  has  a  spell  when  grandfather  doesn't 
come  back  when  she  thinks  he  should.  That  has  to  be. 
You  see,  she  thinks  all  of  her  kindred  are  to  die  at  sea  — 
and  all  have  but  grandfather  —  only  she  has  set  her  heart, 


i68  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

she  says,  on  lying  beside  him  on  land  at  the  last,  like  a 
Christian,  with  a  headstone,  and  name  and  date  on  it." 

"I  mustn't  keep  you  here  talking  when  she  may  need 
you,  but  I  wish  you  were  not  so  grave.  I  liked  the  smiles 
and  the  laughter  best.  Won't  you  bring  them  back  again  ? 
—  or  at  least  give  me  a  reason  for  their  disappearance?" 
"  She  does  n't  need  me.  She  only  fastens  herself  in  her 
room  and  sees  no  one,  and  won't  eat.  I  know  she  takes  out 
all  the  things  that  were  my  father's  when  he  was  a  boy,  and 
sits  there  with  them  all  spread  around  her.  Grandfather 
climbed  up  once  and  looked  in  at  the  windqw  —  we  were 
so  frightened  because  she  stayed  so  long,  and  we  heard  no 
sound.  She  used  to  be  worse,  but  now  she  only  has  a  spell 
when  he  is  off  too  long  with  the  boat.  We  never  talk 
about  this,  you  know.  They  think  in  the  village  that  she 
has  dreadful  headaches,  and  they  call  it  'Mrs.  Heatherby's 
infirmity.'  Only  Elizabeth  and  her  mother  know." 

Joyful  had  busied  herself  in  setting  his  room  in  order,  and 
now  she  shook  out  the  muslin  curtain,  and  tied  it  back, 
looking  wistfully  off  over  the  cove.  "There,  there 's grand- 
father's boat,"  she  cried.  "Can  you  see  it?  Jasper  is 
justputting  off  for  his  point.  And  Than  Stoddard  's  coming ; 
I  heard  the  gate  close.  He 's  been  here  every  day,  but  he 
wouldn't  see  you  until  Dr.  Welch  thought  best." 

"Oh,  send  him  up.  But  first,  Miss  Joyful,  wait  one 
moment  —  it  is  n't  your  grandmother  —  you  've  been  used 
to  that  —  have  you  any  new  trouble  ?  Or  is  it  the  old 
one?  Since  you  were  good  enough  to  tell  me  about  it, 
you  must  forgive  me  for  asking.  It  is  because  I  care,  and 
wish  to  see  you  happy.  Has  he  been  back  here  again?" 

"No,  Mr.  Thorn.     I  almost  wish  he  had.     I  'm  —  It 's 


A  MYSTERIOUS  ASSAULT  169 

because  you  were  hurt.  What  was  it?  Who  did  it? 
Was  it  —  Was  it  in  any  way  my  fault  ?  I  Ve  been 
afraid — "  She  leaned  trembling  against  the  door  post, 
and  covered  her  face  with  her  hands.  "I  don't  like  to  say 
—  but  —  I  wish  I  knew  who  hurt  you." 

Mark's  heart  was  stirred  within  him.  Why  had  he 
ever  drifted  into  her  life?  Was  it  to  cause  her  trouble? 
"Your  fault?"  he  cried.  "Never!  How  could  a  man's 
quarrel  be  your  fault  ?  It  was  just  an  unfortunate  circum- 
stance that  a  fellow  who  fancied  he  had  a  grievance  against 
me  found  me  and  attacked  me  so  near  your  door.  That 
I  was  thrown  into  the  merciful  hands  of  you  good  people 
may  have  saved  my  life.  Will  you  think  of  that  and  be 
happy  again?  I  believe  no  better  thing  could  have  hap- 
pened to  me  than  to  have  been  brought  here  for  peace. 
There,  Nathanael  is  knocking.  Go  now,  and  stop  fearing, 
and  be  happy  for  me,  Miss  Joyful." 

She  stepped  back  and  took  up  the  tray  of  dishes.  Her 
eyelashes  were  wet  with  tears,  but  her  lips  smiled.  "Thank 
you,"  she  said,  and  bore  them  out. 

"Thank  you  for  a  fine  breakfast,"  he  called  after  her. 
He  marveled  at  himself,  as  he  dropped  his  head  back 
upon  the  pillow,  that  he  could  allow  himself  to  be  so  wrought 
upon  by  that  smiling,  tearful  glance.  His  heart  beat 
rapidly  —  violently,  and  the  wound  in  his  head  throbbed. 
"I  must  get  out  of  this.  I  've  grown  too  weak  to  be  self- 
controlled,"  he  thought.  Then  Nathanael  entered,  and  he 
roused  himself. 

"This  is  good  of  you,  Stoddard.  You  're  just  the  man  I 
want  to  see.  Take  that  chair  where  I  can  look  at  you." 

Nathanael  slowly  took  the  thin  outstretched  hand,  and 


1 70  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

looked  down  at  him,  holding  it  a  moment  before  releasing 
it.  Then  he  drew  the  chair  closer  to  the  bedside,  and  sat 
down.  "I've  been  here  every  day  to  see  how  you  were 
getting  on,  but  now  I  see  you,  I  don't  know  what  to  say." 

"I  'd  give  a  goodly  sum,  if  I  had  it,  to  spend  a  day  with 
you  in  your  barn  studio.  I  'm  wasting  a  deal  of  time  these 
days.  Look  here.  Can't  you  help  me  dress?  A  man 
grows  weak,  mentally  and  physically,  lying  abed.  I  Ve 
got  to  be  stirring." 

"  I  will,  if  it 's  best.  Don't  be  rash.  I  shall  go  away  again 
if  my  coming  excites  you.  That  blow  on  your  head  was  a 
cruel  one.  There,  be  patient,  I  '11  get  your  things.  When 
you  're  strong  enough  I  want  to  ask  you  some  questions." 

"Ask  them  now.     I  'm  stronger  than  I  look." 

"You  said  once  you  'd  be  my  friend,  and  I  took  you  at 
your  word.  According  to  my  way  of  looking  at  it,  if  you  're 
my  friend,  you  '11  give  me  a  chance  to  do  something  for  you. 
I  don't  want  to  intrude  in  any  way  on  your  secrets,  but  I  'd 
like  to  serve  you.  Is  there  —  do  you  wish  any  action 
taken  —  or  —  well,  there  must  be  some  reason  for  this, 
you  know,  and  all  I  mean  is,  do  you  want  a  man's  help  ?" 

"Yes,  I  want  a  man's  help  this  minute.  Take  out  your 
knife  and  cut  this  bandage  so  I  can  get  my  arm  free.  I 
want  to  put  on  my  coat,  and  I  can't,  with  my  arm  tied  in 
this  shape." 

"See  here.  If  you're  going  to  get  into  a  frenzy,  I'll 
leave.  Did  Dr.  Welch  say  you  might  remove  it  to-day?" 

"He  said  nothing,  except  that  he  would  not  return  until 
Saturday.  I  can't  wait  three  days  longer,  making  trouble 
here.  The  old  man  's  off,  and  Mrs.  Heatherby  's  ill,  and 
poor  little  Joyful  has  more  care  than  she  should.  I  'm  no 


A  MYSTERIOUS  ASSAULT  171 

baby.     Cut  it  off,  I  say,  and  dress  me  up.    There,  that 's 
right.    You  're  the  best  fellow  in  the  world." 

"Better  keep  it  up  in  the  same  position  as  much  as 
possible.  Here,  now  your  coat 's  on,  let  me  fix  it  up  again." 
Nathanael  pulled  a  large  bandanna  handkerchief  from  his 
pocket  and  carefully  tied  the  arm  in  its  former  position. 
"This  is  one  of  Jack's  fo'reign  acquisitions.  He  bestowed 
it  on  me  as  a  parting  gift.  Now,  with  your  hollow  eyes 
and  bandit  expression,  it  makes  a  fine  effect;  only  you 
should  have  a  similar  one  for  your  head." 

Mark  laughed  inordinately.  "I'm  wondering  what  he 
would  think  if  he  knew  you  had  used  it  to  bind  up  my 
arm,"  he  said. 

"Oh,  he'd  say  it  was  all  right.  He's  the  best-hearted 
fellow  in  the  world." 

Mark  set  his  lips  grimly.  "He  is,  is  he?  I  think  I 
prefer  his  brother,  myself." 

"That 's  your  choice,  you  know.  No  doubt  Joyful  thinks 
differently." 

"Ah,  there's  where  you're  mistaken,  friend."  Mark 
had  grown  more  pallid  with  his  exertions,  and  now  he 
sank  back  upon  his  bed,  weak  with  pain. 

"Haven't  you  any  whisky?  Where  is  it?  Lie  still, 
I  '11  find  it.  I  knew  you  ought  not  to  do  this.  You  're 
not  ready  to  get  up  yet,  man." 

"Yes,  I  am.  There's  the  whisky.  I'm  all  right.  I 
must  get  out  of  doors.  I  'm  not  used  to  being  shut  in  this 
way  —  it  tells  on  a  man's  nerves." 

"  I  '11  come  up  here  every  day,  and  look  after  you,  until 
you  're  able  to  be  out,  if  you  think  you  're  being  a  burden  to 
them." 


172  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

"And  leave  your  weeds  growing,  and  your  father  on  the 
rampage  over  them  ?  Not  a  bit.  I  'm  going  back  to  Mrs. 
Somers'  and  take  care  of  myself." 

"Do  you  realize  this  is  the  first  time  I  Ve  seen  you  since 
you  were  hurt,  and  I  can  see  how  it  has  told  on  your  strength 
and  vitality  ?  You  Ve  got  to  be  patient,  and  I  'm  going  to 
leave  you  now.  Lie  still  and  rest.  Lie  still,  I  say." 

Mark  muttered  something  under  his  breath,  and  began  to 
remove  the  bandage  from  his  head.  Nathanael  seized  his 
hand. 

"I  will  not  allow  you  to  go  any  farther,"  he  cried.  "Are 
you  a  fool  ?  Lie  still." 

Mark  resigned  himself  into  the  hands  of  his  friend. 
"Yes,  I  'm  a  fool.  You  Ve  hit  it.  But  see  here,  Stoddard, 
I  have  something  to  talk  to  you  about.  If  I  can't  go  out, 
I  must  talk.  Hand  me  that  portfolio.  Here  are  some 
letters.  Sit  down  again  and —  wait  —  throw  open  that 
window.  We  '11  have  more  air.  Don't  look  so  worried, 
man;  I  'm  stronger  than  I  look.  It 's  that  damned  arm  - 
it's  paining  me.  I  ought  not  to  have  disturbed  it  yet. 
Now  this  is  what  I  want  you  to  see.  I  Ve  been  doing 
a  little  correspondence  about  these  inventions,  and  inci- 
dentally about  the  inventor,  and  here  are  three  communica- 
tions from  friends  in  New  York,  and  one  in  Boston.  Wait, 
take  this  one  first  and  tell  me  what  you  think  of  it." 

Nathanael  took  the  letters  but  did  not  open  them.  "  Mr. 
Thorn,"  he  said,  "you  are  giving  your  thought  and  strength 
for  me  when  I  ought  to  be  using  mine  for  you.  Let 's  drop 
my  affairs.  You  have  n't  answered  a  question  I  asked  when 
I  first  came  in,  and  which  I  came  here  to  ask.  It 's  my 
opinion  you  evaded  it." 


A  MYSTERIOUS    ASSAULT  173 

Mark  frowned.  "Yes,  if  you  will  know,  I  did  evade  it, 
and  I  hoped  you  'd  forget  to  repeat  it.  To  tell  the  truth,  I 
can't  answer  it.  Don't  be  suspicious  of  me.  I  'm  honor- 
able, although — " 

"I  don't  doubt  it." 

"Thank  you.  Although  the  appearances  are  against 
me,  the  affair  seems  questionable  on  both  sides.  I  have 
no  doubt  there  are  great  stories  afloat  in  the  house  of 
Somers." 

Nathanael  smiled.     "That  needn't  trouble  you." 

"It  doesn't.  Give  me  your  hand.  You 're  gold.  Now 
read  the  letters.  One  of  them  requires  an  immediate  reply, 
as  you  will  see." 

Nathanael  slowly  read  the  typewritten  sheet,  then, 
appearing  suddenly  to  wake  as  if  from  a  dream,  he  re-read 
it  in  haste.  The  paper  trembled  in  his  hand,  and  as  he 
looked  up  at  Mark,  his  eyes  sent  out  their  blue  flash.  The 
whole  man  seemed  to  undergo  an  instant  transformation, 
from  a  weary,  heavy  dreamer,  to  an  alert,  eager  being, 
full  of  hope  and  nerve.  Mark  watched  him  with  a  pleased 
smile. 

"Now,  read  the  others,"  he  said.  "You  see,  I  gave  them 
to  understand  that  they  must  take  the  burden  of  manu- 
facture, giving  you  only  the  superintendence.  Most 
inventors  are  impractical  fellows.  You  must  prove  to 
them  that  you  are  not." 

Nathanael  glanced  through  the  rest  of  the  correspondence 
rapidly.  He  seemed  no  longer  able  to  plod.  He  was 
awake. 

"They  wish  to  see  me  ;  well,  I  wish   to  see  them." 

"Do  you  know  anything  about  mining  engineering?" 


174  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

Nathanael  replied  with  a  laugh  and  a  shrug,  "I  ought  to. 
I  worked  hard  enough  to  gain  a  little  knowledge.  You  see, 
after  I  left  Harvard,  I  corresponded  with  a  man  there  who 
later  became  one  of  the  professors  in  Boston  Tech,  and 
through  him  I  got  a  special  chance.  I  worked  at  home  in 
that  barn  room  —  Heavens,  how  I  worked  !  Yes,  I  have  all 
a  man  can  get,  outside  of  the  actual  experience." 

"How  long  did  you  work  that  way?" 

"Two  years  —  a  little  over  two  years,  night  and  day." 

"And  carried  on  the  farm,  too?" 

"And  carried  on  the  farm  —  indifferently  well.  I  worked 
for  the  mere  love  of  it,  without  hope  —  except  in  a  vague 
way  —  that,  if  the  conditions  of  my  life  ever  should  change, 
I  should  then  be  ready.  Sometimes  I  've  felt  as  if  my  feet 
were  grown  rooted  to  that  stone  heap  of  a  farm,  while  my 
heart  and  brain  were  —  well  —  were  winged  for  flight,  yet 
couldn't  rise." 

"I  guess  you  were  about  right.  Now,  the  thing  for  you 
to  do  is  to  see  if  you  can  get  your  feet  out  of  the  soil.  Will 
you  go  to  New  York  to  see  this  man?" 

Nathanael's  face  wore  the  brown  and  red  coat  of  the  sun 
and  wind,  except  on  the  forehead  where  his  hat  had  pro- 
tected it.  At  Mark's  question  this  fair  white  forehead 
became  as  red  as  his  cheeks,  and  the  veins  stood  out.  He 
rose,  and  strode  to  the  window,  where  he  stood  looking  out 
on  the  sea,  his  elbows  resting  on  the  top  of  the  sash,  and  his 
chin  in  his  hands.  Mark  divined  the  hindrance. 

"I  could  make  it  easy  for  you  to  go,  but  you  would  n't  let 
me.  You  're  as  proud  as  Lucifer." 

"No,"  said  Nathanael,  "I  wouldn't." 

"Ask  your  father  for  it." 


A   MYSTERIOUS   ASSAULT  175 

"Never." 

"Then  borrow  it  from  him,  at  a  good  round  rate  of 
interest." 

"I  made  up  my  mind,  when  Jack  returned  this  last  time, 
that  I  'd  make  a  change  in  my  way  of  living.  Jack  's  had 
-  Well,  that 's  nothing  —  neither  here  nor  there,  but  as 
for  father,  I  'm  really  no  service  to  him  now.  We  only 
irritate  one  another.  I  see  my  duty  differently  —  condi- 
tions have  changed  —  and  I've  changed,  thanks  to  your 
companionship.  I  '11  go  to  New  York  —  I  '11  go,  if  I  have  to 
ride  on  freight  trains,  —  walk,  —  crawl  on  my  hands  and 
knees." 

Mark  was  reminded  of  Somers'  description  of  the  young 
man's  mother.  "I'll  take  this  butter  to  the  station,  if  I 
have  to  crawl  on  my  hands  and  knees,"  and  he  could 
imagine  the  same  steel  blue  lightning  in  her  eyes. 

"That's  right,"  he  cried,  sitting  up.  "I'm  not  known 
among  my  friends  as  a  man  of  much  business  ability,  but 
they  give  me  credit  for  a  few  brilliant  streaks  of  common 
sense.  They  need  an  engineer  at  once  —  go  at  once. 
Maybe,  before  two  weeks  are  over,  you  will  be  in  New 
Mexico  or  Montana.  Go  to-day.  Take  the  evening  train 
from  Willoughby  Junction.  Have  you  a  man  on  the 
farm?" 

"No." 

"Never  mind  —  leave  the  plow  in  the  furrow  and  the 
hoe  in  the  potato  patch.  Go." 

Nathanael  laughed.  "No  need  to  be  quite  so  reckless. 
I  can  get  Sam  Hart  to  work  it  on  shares,  and  —  the  only 
thing  is  to  get  the  money  —  poor  father.  He  can't  under- 
stand. But  I  '11  get  it."  His  face  darkened,  with  a  mo- 


176  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

mentary  feeling  of  bitterness,  as  he  thought  of  Jack's  debts, 
and  the  money  he  had  used  for  them. 

"What  can  I  do  for  you  now,  before  I  leave?  This 
visit  may  be  the  death  of  you,  as  it  is." 

"Nothing.  I  'm  strong  enough  to  go  downstairs.  Guess 
I  will.  Give  me  your  assistance,  and  —  do  you  see  any- 
thing of  Heatherby's  boat?" 

"It 's  just  drawing  up  to  the  pier." 

"Then  never  mind  about  helping  me  down-;  I  '11  wait 
until  he  comes  in.  Give  me  my  writing  materials.  We  '11 
wire  Downs  and  Hubert  that  you  '11  be  there  to-morrow. 
You  see,  if  you  get  the  position,  you  may  be  able  to  put 
your  invention  to  practical  use,  and  that  will  be  a  big  thing 
for  you.  There,  send  that  message  before  you  see  your 
father;  then  the  die  will  be  cast." 

Nathanael  took  Mark's  hand  and  released  it  reluctantly. 
"Sometime,"  he  said,  with  emotion,  "sometime  I  will 
show  what  I  think  now  of  you.  At  present  —  I  am  —  your 
debtor  —  in  one  sense  I  shall  always  be." 

As  Mark  lay  back  on  his  pillow  and  closed  his  eyes,  he 
heard  the  gate  swing  after  the  young  man's  hurrying  steps, 
and  then  he  heard  Joyful's  voice  speaking  at  her  grand- 
mother's door. 

"  Grandmother,  grandmother.  They  're  back  all  safe. 
See,  look  out  of  the  window.  They  're  taking  out  the  fish. 
Come,  grandmother,  Mr.  Thorn  wants  you,  I  know  he 
does.  There  was  no  one  but  me  to  go  to  him  this  morn- 
ing." 

Evidently  she  received  no  answer,  for  Mark  heard  her 
go  slowly  away,  and  all  the  rest  of  that  day  he  saw  nothing 
of  the  old  lady.  Later,  he  persuaded  Mr.  Heatherby  to 


A  MYSTERIOUS   ASSAULT  177 

assist  him  below,  and  sat  with  the  old  man,  while  Joyful 
waited  on  them  at  the  noon  meal.  Then  he  spent  the  rest 
of  the  day  in  the  large  rocker,  and  Joyful  passed  in  and  out, 
busy  and  neat,  but  still  grave.  Her  grandfather  let  his 
big,  jovial  voice  sound  through  the  house,  and  Mark  noticed 
that  now  and  again  he  stood  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs  and 
listened. 

"  I  'm  hearkin'  to  see  if  she  turns  her  key  in  the  door.  It 's 
always  best  for  her  to  hear  me  about  same 's  usual.  She 
kind  of  gets  over  her  spell  by  degrees  so."  Then  he  took 
a  hoe  and  went  out  in  the  garden  in  sight  of  the  old  lady's 
window,  and  worked  among  his  tomato  vines,  and  sang, 
the  afternoon  long,  until  Somers  came  for  the  fish. 

Nathanael  was  with  him.  He  had  had  a  stormy  inter- 
view with  his  father,  but  had  won  at  last.  Then  he  had 
gone  over  to  see  Elizabeth.  His  eyes  still  shone  from  that 
visit,  but  he  had  not  said  to  her  what  his  heart  wished.  He 
would  wait,  and  with  the  repression  of  his  impulses  a  certain 
appearance  of  distance  and  coldness  had  come  into  his 
manner,  of  which  he  was  himself  unaware,  but  which  she 
interpreted  wrongly.  She  had  been  warmly  commendatory 
of  his  action,  and  was  full  of  praise  for  the  friend  who  had 
so  helped  him.  She  had  said  something  about  Joyful,  also, 
which  he  had  vaguely  acquiesced  in,  wondering  why  she 
said  it. 

Now  as  he  jogged  off  in  Somers'  democrat  wagon,  his  box 
of  models  and  drawings  rattling  behind  him,  he  was  rehears- 
ing to  himself  their  short,  hurried  interview  —  every  word 
she  had  said.  Had  he  seen  Joyful  to-day?  Yes,  just  a 
moment.  What  a  pity  her  grandmother  was  under  a  cloud 
again  —  Why  need  Mr.  Heatherby  be  off  and  stay  that 


178  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

way  ?  But  of  course  he  must  keep  earning  while  he  could. 
She  had  seen  very  little  of  Joy  lately,  and  must  have  her 
with  them  more,  as  soon  as  Mr.  Thorn  was  well  enough. 
Joy  must  be  very  busy  now.  He  opined  she  was  —  he 
was  on  his  way4feece  now;  had  Elizabeth  any  message  to 
send?  No,  she  would  walk  over  there,  to-morrow,  perhaps. 

He  had  wished  to  tell  her  more  of  his  hopes,  but  she  had 
held  him  back,  even  while  her  strong,  warm  nature  was 
yearning  toward  him.  He  felt  conflicting  influences  both 
repelling  and  drawing  him,  and  at  the  gate  was  moved  to 
return,  in  the  hope  of  securing  a  firmer  foothold  within  the 
fortress  of  her  gentle  reserve.  Might  —  might  he  drop 
her  a  line?  Certainly,  she  would  be  interested  to  hear. 
And  when  he  returned  he  might  —  he  hoped  he  would  have 
a  more  important  thing  to  tell  her  —  he  should  come  to 
her  at  once  ?  Indeed  yes,  and  while  he  was  away  would 
he  remember  her  lecture,  and  not  hold  himself  too  cheaply  ? 
He  would  not  forget,  nor  ever  hold  himself  cheaply  again, 
while  she  saw  worth  in  him. 

Had  he  gone  too  far  ?  Would  she  resent  ?  He  trembled 
to  fall  at  her  feet  —  to  do  any  wild  act  to  break  her  calm ; 
but  the  fatal  fetters  of  his  training  and  inheritance  held  him 
stiff,  with  head  erect.  He  could  only  extend  his  hand  with 
conventional  dignity;  yet,  as  his  fingers  closed  over  hers 
she  felt  the  tremor  of  vital  energy,  and  looked  quickly  into 
the  blue  eyes  fixed  on  her  face. 

Why  should  he  look  at  her  in  that  way?  He  should 
keep  such  glances  for  Joyful.  And  so  they  parted. 


CHAPTER  XI 

CONFLICTING  SENTIMENTS 

"  O  foolish  physick,  and  unfruitfull  paine, 
That  heals  up  one,  and  makes  another  wound  ! 
She  has  hurt  thigh  to  him  recurd  againe, 
But  hurt  his  hart,  the  which  before  was  sound, 
Through  an  unwary  dart  which  did  rebound 
From  her  faire  eyes  and  gratious  countenaunce." 

—  The  Faerie  Queene. 

THE  next  morning  Mark  did  not  rise.  He  had  been  rash 
the  day  before,  and  his  head  troubled  him ;  but  he  felt  more 
at  ease,  for  he  heard  Joyful's  song  under  his  window  again, 
as  he  had  heard  it  that  first  morning,  which  now  seemed 
so  long  ago. 

Then  the  trees  were  bare,  now  even  the  tardy  locust  was 
in  full  bloom.  The  sweet  scent  of  the  blossoms  came  in  at 
the  window,  and  a  drunken  bee  droned  his  complaint  as 
he  butted  his  head  against  the  glass.  Mark  watched  the 
heavy  fellow  drowsily.  Why  had  he  come  in  there,  in  the 
first  place,  and  in  the  next,  why  did  he  stay  when  he  had 
only  to  crawl  round  the  edge  of  the  sash  and  spread  his 
wings  in  absolute  freedom  ?  He  was  just  going  to  draw  a 
vague  comparison  between  the  bee  and  himself,  when  he 
perceived  his  good  angel  and  nurse  looking  smilingly  down 
on  him. 

She  showed  no  trace  of  her  aberration  of  the  day  before. 

179 


i8o  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

Either  she  chose  to  ignore  it,  or  was  unaware  of  it.  She 
seemed  eminently  sane,  and  her  normal  self,  while  bathing 
his  face  and  his  free  hand,  and  chatted  cheerily. 

She  complained  of  his  matted  hair.  It  had  not  been  so 
before;  what  had  he  been  doing  overnight  ?  How  ever  had 
he  got  his  arm  free.  Men  were  so  impatient !  He  ought 
not  to  have  done  a  thing  without  the  doctor's  orders.  Now, 
more  'n  likely,  it  would  be  weeks  longer  getting  well.  Had 
father  cut  the  bandage  for  him  ?  It  would  be  just  like  father 
to  do  anything  on  earth.  He  'd  indulge  Joy  to  her  death. 

Mark  assured  her  it  was  entirely  his  own  fault.  He  had 
persuaded  Nathanael  to  do  it. 

The  dear  old  lady  was  mystified  and  troubled.  "Than 
Stoddard  's  brought  your  mail  over  every  day,  but  I  would  n't 
let  him  up  till  I  saw  you  strong  enough,  'nd  here  he 's  slipped 
in  'nd  helped  off  this  bandage  without  my  seein'  him.  He 
might  'a  known  better,  even  if  you  didn't." 

Mark  liked  her  motherly  scolding,  and  smiled  up  at  her. 

"There  now!"  she  went  on,  smoothing  his  bed  and 
arranging  his  pillows.  "You're  nothing  but  a  great  boy, 
for  all  you  reach  most  across  the  room.  How  your  bed  is 
torn  up  !  You  must  'a  been  dreadfully  restless." 

"I'm  getting  well,  and  it's  time  you  turned  me  out." 

"Just  you  keep  your  patience  till  I  do."  She  spied  the 
bee  and  helped  it  over  the  window  sash  and  out.  "It's 
the  locust 't  draws  them.  The  tree  's  alive  and  humming 
with  them." 

Mark  refrained  from  making  any  further  allusion  to  the 
doings  of  the  previous  day.  He  lay  quietly  gazing  out  at 
the  serene  sky,  and  up  at  the  fragrant,  swarming  tree. 
He  could  hear  the  buzzing  of  myriad  wings,  like  a  distant 


CONFLICTING  SENTIMENTS  181 

vibrant  undertone  of  many  violins,  now  louder,  now  softer, 
as  the  breeze  playing  among  the  leaves  of  the  silver-leaf 
poplar  rose  and  fell.  Now  and  again  a  clear  note  of  Joyful's 
song,  as  she  sewed  under  the  trees,  gave  voice  to  the  quiver- 
ing harmony,  and  a  sense  of  absolute  peace  entered  into  his 
very  soul  —  a  delicious  sense  of  rest. 

There  were  letters  lying  under  his  hand  unopened.  He 
dreaded  to  allow  any  intrusion  from  the  world  without. 
The  old  lady  had  gone,  carrying  his  breakfast  dishes  with 
her,  and  he  heard  the  light  clatter  as  she  washed  them 
below  in  the  open  summer  kitchen.  Tempted  by  Joyful's 
song,  he  rose  and  looked  down  at  her  as  she  sat  on  the 
ground,  leaning  against  the  rough  black  trunk  of  the  old 
poplar,  intent  on  her  work.  She  was  making  buttonholes 
in  the  bands  of  blue  gingham  aprons,  and  she  wore  the  pink 
dimity  frock  Elizabeth  had  fashioned  for  her,  cut  square  at 
the  neck,  and  frilled,  showing  her  round,  white  throat. 
She  looked  like  a  belated  apple  blossom  that  had  drifted 
down  from  somewhere  out  of  the  skies. 

Weak  and  weary,  he  lay  down  again,  and  closed  his  eyes, 
shutting  thus  within  himself  the  beautiful  picture.  Me- 
chanically his  hand  closed  over  one  of  the  unopened  letters, 
crushing  the  delicately  scented  missive  which  he  had  been 
idly  fingering  all  the  morning.  Presently  he  roused  him- 
self. This  lotus  dream  of  peace  must  end,  however  sweet  in 
the  passing.  The  poem  of  this  summer  morning,  with 
the  girl  under  the  trees  sewing  on  blue  aprons  for  its  theme, 
must  remain  for  him  a  poem  only,  but  a  poem  forever. 

He  tore  the  envelope  roughly  off  and  tossed  it  aside,  and 
smoothed  the  crumpled  sheets  of  fine  linen  paper. 

"Dearest  Mark,"   it  began.     ("So  I  am  her  dearest 


182  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

Mark  of  them  all,  am  I?")  He  smiled,  and  read  on. 
"You  bad,  perfectly  dear,  lovable,  silly  boy  !  To  run  away 
in  a  fit  of  the  sulks  and  hide  yourself  there  in  the  woods. 
To  tell  the  truth,  dear,  I  did  not  think  you  cared  for  any- 
thing I  might  say.  You  always  treat  me  with  such  an  air 
of  superiority  when  we  approach  subjects  of  art,  that  now 
I  'm  glad  I  said  it,  just  to  discover  that  you  do  care  for  my 
opinion  sometimes.  I  am  so  flattered  that  I  freely  forgive 
you,  Mark  dear,  for  running  away.  Indeed,  I  could  go 
into  a  rhapsody  over  it,  only  I  have  n't  time.  I  have  such 
a  pleasant  thing  to  tell  you,  and  I  'm  afraid  some  one  else 
may  tell  it  first. 

"  Listen,  Mark.  The  picture  I  call  mine,  because  I  have 
always  loved  it  so — you  remember  the  picture  of  Dawn — 
is  sold!! I  Mrs.  St.  Clare  Thomas  bought  it,  I  don't  know 
for  how  much,  but  not  half  what  it  was  worth,  no  doubt. 
She  could  give  any  price  for  a  thing,  only  she  loves  her 
money  more  than  she  loves  art. 

"  Do  you  wonder,  dear,  that  I  am  happy  ?  Every  success 
that  comes  to  you  brings  nearer  our  wedding  day,  Mark, 
and  our  lovely  trip  to  the  Orient.  It  was  settled  we  should 
go  there,  was  it  not  ?  I  'm  so  glad  it  was  not  your  brush 
hand  that  was  hurt.  You  forgot  to  tell  us  how  the  acci- 
dent happened.  Mamma  Kate  wanted  to  take  the  next 
train  and  hunt  you  up,  but  I  laughed  her  out  of  it. 

"  The  idea  of  her  giving  up  Newport,  and  the  yachting 
trip  with  the  Scott  Stevens  party,  just  because  you  had 
hurt  your  arm  in  some  reckless  way  !  Of  course  if  you  had  n't 
written  it  was  nothing  serious,  we  would  both  have  flown 
to  you,  but  she  would  drop  everything  and  run,  if  you  so 
much  as  hurt  your  little  finger. 


CONFLICTING  SENTIMENTS  183 

"  To  go  back  to  that  unfortunate  exhibit.  Mark,  I  know 
that  your  work  is  fine,  as  well  as  you  do  —  I  know  it  better 
than  you  do.  That  is  why  I  so  insist  that  you  should 
do  something  that  will  give  you  a  name.  All  you  lack  is 
a  name.  I  saw  a  lot  of  Whistlers  in  New  York  last  week, 
and  really,  dear  —  I  would  n't  have  any  one  but  you  hear 
me  say  this  —  but  —  I  think  yours  far  better  work.  There  ! 
What  do  you  think  of  that  ?  If  it  were  not  for  the  magical 
name,  the  crowd  who  were  gazing  at  them  would  never  have 
seen  them  at  all.  They  just  take  the  catalogue  and  hunt 
up  the  names  and  never  look  at  anything  else.  Of  course, 
Mark,  we  all  do  that  —  it's  natural.  But  as  long  as  it  is  so, 
you  should  recognize  the  fact,  and  benefit  by  it. 

"  Those  quiet  artistic  things  you  do  are  very  beautiful,  and 
they  are  the  sort  of  things  one  would  want  to  hang  in  one's 
house,  but  they  are  not  bold  enough  to  make  the  crowd  look 
twice  at  them.  When  you  have  a  name,  dear,  then  you  can 
be  as  truly  artistic  as  you  please,  or  you  can  be  lazy  and  do 
careless  things,  as  most  of  them  do  when  they  become  cele- 
brated ;  you  '11  be  a  success,  all  the  same,  and  what 's  more, 
your  things  will  sell,  and  that  is  the  great  point,  after  all, 
when  one's  income  is  as  limited  as  yours. 

"  I  have  been  thinking  and  planning  for  our  Oriental  trip, 
and  studying  modern  Mahomedanism.  It  is  most  fascinat- 
ing. All  our  best  people  are  going  into  some  kind  of  oriental- 
ism nowadays.  A  religious  cult  of  some  kind  seems  ab- 
solutely necessary  to  the  human  soul,  and  Christian  Science 
is  become  so  commonplace,  now  that  everybody  has  taken 
it  up  —  I  would  almost  rather  go  in  for  old-fashioned 
Methodism,  for  the  mere  sake  of  being  unique. 

"  I  have  so  much  to  do  these  days  that  it  is  no  wonder  I 


184  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

write  you  so  seldom.  Being  the  head  of  our  philanthropy 
department  throws  great  responsibility  on  me,  and  my  heart 
aches  so  for  poor  humanity  all  about  me,  that  sometimes 
I  feel  almost  like  giving  up  that  yachting  trip,  just  to  stay 
here  and  see  that  some  of  our  more  important  schemes  for 
the  uplift  of  the  masses  are  carried  out. 

"Mamma  Kate  says  they  will  only  fall  down  again  harder 
than  ever  if  we  do  it  for  them,  and  don't  make  them  uplift 
themselves,  but  such  sentiments  are  very  old-fashioned, 
and  not  at  all  according  to  altruistic  thought. 

"  But  to  go  back  to  our  wedding  and  the  Oriental  trip — 
(you  will  try  to  sell  more  pictures  soon,  so  we  may  feel  sure 
of  it,  as  long  as  you  are  so  proud,  and  won't  allow  me  to  help?) 
Over  there  you  '11  find  such  splendid  subjects  to  paint  — 
but  you  know  more  about  that  than  I  can  tell  you  —  only 
I  'm  thinking  what  tremendous  things  you  can  do  there. 
Everything  in  America  is  so  commonplace,  with  no  flavor  of 
mystery  about  it  —  none  of  the  poetry  of  the  past  still 
clinging  to  it.  It  is  just  the  same  in  art  as  it  is  with  our 
religion  here.  The  mystery  and  poetry  have  all  been  taken 
out,  and  we  are  given  only  the  same  old  dogmas  and  bare 
bones  which  the  Puritans  gnawed  on.  The  spiritual  nature 
craves  spiritual  food,  and  that  is  what  I  am  getting  now. 
Read  the  Arabic  inscription  on  the  back  of  the  unmounted 
photograph  I  have  inclosed.  Those  words  have  a  mystic 
significance,  dear,  and  every  time  you  look  at  the  face  I 
want  you  to  read  those  words,  or  better  still,  keep  them  in 
mind,  and  repeat  them  over  and  over  in  your  heart  with  your 
eyes  closed  to  all  material  things,  and  let  only  your  spirit 
remain  open  and  receptive  to  the  inpouring  of  the  great 
spiritual  tide  that  will  flow  in  on  you.  Those  words  will 


CONFLICTING  SENTIMENTS  185 

be  a  source  of  inspiration  and  help,  and  will  lead  you  to  the 
doing  of  great  things  in  your  art,  which  will  result  in  the 
true  uplift  of  your  fellows. 

"That  is  what  I  am  living  for  now,  Mark,  wholly,  and  I  wish 
you  could  make  your  aims  the  same,  so  that  our  souls  may 
be  completely  in  accord,  and  both  enwrapped  and  infiltrated 
throughout  with  the  divine  spiritual  influx.  Oh,  Mark, 
this  is  rapture.  This  is  in  the  highest  sense  bliss.  You 
may  not  understand  the  words,  but  give  no  heed  to  that. 
You  must  feel  that  they  mean  to  your  soul  ecstasy  supreme, 
and  repeat  them  as  I  tell  you  —  and  by  the  way  —  tell  me 
how  you  like  the  picture.  I  had  it  taken  last  week. 

"  As  soon  as  you  get  this,  write  us  more  particularly  about 
your  accident.  We  are  wild  to  know.  Were  you  alone, 
and  what  on  earth  were  you  doing  ?  Next  week  we  go  to 
Newport,  and  a  few  weeks  later  we  join  the  Scott  Stevens 
yachting  party,  I  don't  know  how  long  to  be  gone,  but 
a  month  anyway,  so  if  you  don't  come  down  to  Newport 
I  won't  see  you  until  fall.  Think  of  it !  Can  you  wait 
so  long? 

"  Your  true  love,  as  always,  Mark, 

"  LOUISE  TREMONT  PARSONS." 

Mark  looked  in  the  envelope  for  the  picture  he  had  missed. 
There  it  was,  crumpled  and  torn  by  his  nervous  fingers. 
"Very  careless  of  me,"  he  murmured,  as  he  smoothed  out 
the  creases,  and  fitted  the  torn  edges  together.  "Yes,  it's 
an  exquisite  head,  and  well  taken,  too."  He  smiled  as  he 
turned  it  over,  and  spelled  out  the  Arabic  incantation  she 
had  inscribed  there  for  his  spiritual  "uplift."  "If  it  were 
Greek,  I  might  make  a  stab  at  a  translation,"  he  thought. 


186  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

"Ah,  well,  no  harm."  As  long  as  an  understanding  of  it  was 
entirely  unnecessary,  he  would  ask  for  a  little  flour  paste, 
and  mount  it  on  a  card  for  the  better  preservation  of  the 
beautiful  face.  He  could  make  up  a  little  gibberish  of  his 
own,  and  repeat  it  with  closed  eyes  for  his  "spiritual  uplift." 
He  laid  the  picture  smoothly  between  the  leaves  of  his  note- 
book and  sighed.  Yes,  Louise  was  right.  He  must  stop 
this  dreaming  and  idling  —  but  what  a  delicious  time  of 
peace  it  had  been  !  Indeed,  it  was  fortunate  his  brush  hand 
was  unhurt.  This  very  afternoon  he  would  work,  if  his  head 
would  let  him  —  and  he  did.  He  made  another  drawing 
while  Joyful  posed,  and  they  passed  a  merry  hour,  for  Mark 
insisted  that  this  was  to  be  a  love  scene,  and  Joyful  was  to 
gaze  into  the  face  of  her  knight ;  but  as  there  was  no  knightly 
lover  at  hand,  her  grandfather  was  pressed  into  the  service, 
and  she  gazed  into  the  old  man's  face  quite  to  Mark's 
satisfaction. 

"I  declare!  You're  makin'  a  regular  fool  of  father," 
the  old  lady  said,  as  she  looked  with  pleased  expression  at 
the  two  seated  under  the  tree.  "And  you  're  puttin'  notions 
into  the  child's  head,  too,  pretendin'  she  's  lookin'  at  her 
lover." 

"Why,  I  am,  grandmother,"  cried  Joyful,  reaching  up  to 
pat  the  genial  old  face.  "May  we  see  it  now,  Mr.  Thorn  ?" 

"Certainly." 

"Why,  you  have  n't  put  in  the  lover  at  all.  You  have 
only  me." 

The  old  man  laughed  uproariously.  "What  did  you 
think,  Joy  —  were  you  going  to  have  him  make  a  theater 
acterin'  knight  out  o'  your  gran '-daddy  ?" 

"Now  you  need  n't  laugh.    You  're  so  straight  and  tall,  I 


CONFLICTING  SENTIMENTS  187 

know  you  were  just  a  handsome  young  knight  once;  was  n't 
he,  grandmother  ?  And  you  're  a  fine  old  one  now,  if  you 
only  had  armor  and  a  steed."  She  laughed  merrily,  the 
happy,  ringing  laugh  Mark  had  been  longing  to  hear  again. 
"Let  me  make  the  knight,"  she  said,  seizing  a  piece  of  chalk 
and  seating  herself  on  Mark's  stool,  before  the  easel.  "You 
sit  where  grandfather  did,  Mr.  Thorn,  and,  grandmother, 
you  sit  on  the  stool  at  his  feet,  so  he  can  look  down  at  you." 

"Oh,  go  along  and  make  your  knight,"  said  the  old  lady 
good-humoredly.  "  I  guess  Mr.  Thorn  c'n  set  'nd  look  down 
without  havin'  me  there." 

"Not  so  hard  to  look  down  at  you  like  a  lover,  Mrs. 
Heatherby.  There 's  more  truth  than  poetry  in  Miss  Joy- 
ful's  suggestion.  Go  ahead,  Miss  Joyful.  We  '11  pretend 
your  grandmother  is  on  this  stool.  Now,  how  will  this  do  ?  " 

"I  will  make  the  bandage  around  your  head  first.  That 
will  show  you  are  a  valiant  knight,  and  have  suffered  wounds 
for  your  lady's  sake."  Their  eyes  met,  and  in  the  same 
instant  she  regretted  her  words,  and  bit  her  lip  in  her  chagrin, 
and  dropped  her  hands  in  her  lap. 

"Go  on,  go  on,  Miss  Joyful.  Make  me  into  a  hero  — 
come." 

"No  —  that  would  never  do  for  Undine's  lover.  He  was 
very  careful  never  to  let  himself  get  hurt.  He  was  a  selfish 
knight."  She  tossed  the  chalk  back  in  the  box  and  rose. 
The  color  had  left  her  face,  and  she  looked  sad  and  drooping. 

Her  grandfather  stretched  his  arms  above  his  head. 
"Well,  I  declare.  I  believe  sitting  still 's  hard  work.  I  'm 
hungry.  How  is  it  with  you,  Mr.  Thorn?" 

"I  'm  hungry,  too ;  but  that 's  my  usual  condition  these 
days." 


i88  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

Joyful  left  them,  turning  away  with  a  sense  of  relief,  for 
she  felt  Mark's  eyes  on  her  face.  Soon  she  returned  with 
a  lunch  of  scalloped  tea  cakes  and  milk,  such  as  she  had 
brought  Mark  that  first  evening.  He  sat  regarding  his 
work  critically.  He  had  felt  her  embarrassment,  and  his 
mood  had  changed.  What  was  he  doing,  lingering  here? 
He  was  no  longer  so  helpless  that  he  could  not  look  after 
himself,  and  he  would  go  back  to  his  barn  studio. 

As  Joyful  left  them  enjoying  their  lunch,  her  grandfather 
called  after  her  to  stay. 

"I  don't  care  for  anything,  grand-daddy,"  she  said, 
smiling  back  at  him.  "If  you  don't  need  me  any  more, 
Mr.  Thorn,  I  guess  I  '11  go  in." 

Mark  was  troubled.  He  would  have  liked  to  paint 
another  hour,  but  he  would  not  detain  her.  He  sat  awhile 
longer,  chatting  with  the  old  man,  and  then  tried  to  work 
again,  but  found  it  impossible.  He  gathered  his  things 
together  and  strolled  off  to  the  bluff,  and  sat  gazing  at  the 
sea  for  the  rest  of  the  day  —  tortured  and  saddened  by  one 
of  his  blackest  moods.  He  took  out  the  little  picture  of 
Louise  and  studied  it  line  by  line.  For  years  her  exquisite 
combination  of  line  and  color  had  filled  his  artist  sense  with 
complete  satisfaction.  It  was  all  he  had  ever  particularly 
cared  for  in  a  woman  —  any  woman  other  than  his  mother. 
He  had  always  been  able  to  dispel  a  moody  fit  by  gazing  at 
her  face,  and  dreaming  it  his  for  all  time — a  beauty  to  be 
never  wearied  of,  nor  wasted.  He  thought  now  of  the  time 
he  had  been  frenzied  to  possess  it  —  had  been  enslaved  by 
it,  and  smiled.  Men  never  looked  at  her  once  without  seek- 
ing to  look  again.  Should  he  run  down  to  Newport  ?  He 
thought  he  would  better  —  it  would  shake  off  the  spell 


CONFLICTING  SENTIMENTS  189 

that  was  growing  on  him  here.  It  would  n't  do  to  be  laid 
up  here  another  day.  Only  for  the  bandage  on  his  head, 
he  would  be  already  gone.  He  must  get  rid  of  it. 

He  looked  up  and  saw  Joyful  coming  slowly  toward  him 
through  the  blueberry  pasture.  Her  dress  clung  about  her 
supple,  girlish  limbs,  and  the  blueberry  bushes  caught  at  it 
as  if  with  detaining  fingers,  as  she  walked.  Mark  hastily 
buttoned  the  picture  and  the  notebook  inside  his  coat, 
fumblingly,  for  his  hurt  arm  was  still  tied  across  his  breast. 
Underneath  it  he  felt  the  rising  tumult  of  conflicting  emo- 
tions, and  tried  to  lay  the  quickened  beating  of  his  heart 
to  his  present  weakness.  He  ground  his  teeth,  and  set  his 
face  sternly  toward  the  sea. 

"Will  you  come  to  supper,  Mr.  Thorn?"  she  called,  as 
she  drew  nearer. 

"Yes,  gladly, "he  replied, rising  and  still  looking  at  the  sea. 

"Is  n't  it  beautiful  now?"  she  said,  standing  beside  him. 
"But  oh,  it's  more  beautiful  still,  when  the  moon  comes 
up  over  there,  away  on  the  edge,  and  makes  a  wide  golden 
road  through  the  midst  of  the  sea  to  your  very  feet."  Then 
the  thought  of  the  last  time  she  had  seen  it  thus  came  to  her, 
and  a  crimson  flood  dyed  her  face. 

"  I  know  how  beautiful  it  must  be.  I  have  seen  it  so  on 
the  Mediterranean  Sea  at  midnight,  when  the  sky  was  black 
and  covered  thick  with  stars.  How  would  you  like  to  go 
there  and  see  it?"  He  looked  down  into  her  face,  and 
thought  the  flush  of  red  was  there  for  him.  It  stirred  his 
heart  more  violently,  and  again  he  felt  the  wound  in  his  head 
throb.  He  did  not  resist  the  impulse  to  take  a  step  nearer 
her  and  bend  lower,  until  their  eyes  met.  "Tell  me,  how 
would  you  like  to  go  there,  Miss  Joyful  ? " 


190  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

The  gaze  which  met  his  was  frank  and  impersonal.  She 
had  ceased  remembering  Jack,  and  was  thinking  of  the 
Mediterranean  Sea  and  the  stars. 

"Oh,  I  would  like  it.  Mother  used  to  tell  me  about  it, 
but—" 

"But  what,  little  friend?"  he  said  gently. 

"I  was  thinking  how  glad  I  am  that  it  is  beautiful  here, 
too.  I  'm  always  glad  when  the  world  is  beautiful.  Are  n't 
you?" 

"Yes,  yes,"  he  said.  But  he  spoke  sadly,  and  turned 
away.  Presently  he  took  her  hand  and  pulled  her  play- 
fully toward  the  house.  "Come,"  he  said,  "your  grand- 
mother will  be  after  us  both,  if  we  don't  hurry." 

"Mr.  Thorn  !  You  are  tired.  You  have  done  too  much 
to-day." 

"  Why  so,  Miss  Joyful  ?  "  His  fingers  tightened  over  hers 
as  he  led  her  on. 

"I  can  feel  your  hand  tremble.  You  see  you  have  only 
one  hand  now,  and  you  use  it  too  much." 

He  laughed  heartily.  "It  is  not  weariness  that  makes 
it  shake.  I  'm  stronger  than  I  've  been  for  days."  But  he 
was  angry  with  himself,  and  released  her  hand  from  his 
grasp. 

"Then  why  does  it  shake?" 

"  God  knows! "  he  said,  and  his  face  darkened  as  he  strode 
rapidly  on  toward  the  cottage. 


CHAPTER  XH 

THE  END  OF  AN  IDYLL 

"  Now,  good  Cesario,  but  that  piece  of  song, 
That  old  and  antique  song  we  heard  last  night ; 
Methinks  it  did  relieve  my  passion  much, 
More  than  light  airs  and  recollected  terms 
Of  these  most  brisk  and  giddy-paced  times. 
Hark  it,  Cesario,  it  is  old  and  plain. 
The  knitters  and  the  spinners  in  the  sun 
And  the  free  maids  that  weave  their  thread  with  bones 
Do  use  to  chant  it." 

—  SHAKESPEARE. 

A  RAW,  chill  wind  was  driving  insistently  against  Mark's 
windowpanes  when  he  awoke  next  morning.  He  tried  to 
rise,  but  the  wound  in  his  head  still  throbbed,  and  the 
weather  seemed  to  be  sending  arrows  of  pain  through  his 
healing  bones.  With  a  groan  of  dismay  he  relaxed  his  tense 
muscles  and  lay  back  again  on  his  pillow.  Certainly  the 
elements  were  against  him,  but  this  one  thing  he  could  do. 
He  would  keep  his  room,  even  though  it  might  make  a  little 
more  trouble  for  his  kind  old  hostess.  He  would  not  allow 
himself  again  to  become  the  victim  of  his  own  emotions. 

He  smiled  as  he  re-read  Louise  Parsons'  letter.  "Every- 
thing is  so  commonplace  here  in  America,  with  no  flavor 
of  mystery  about  it  —  none  of  the  poetry  of  the  past  still 
clinging  to  it."  As  he  read,  he  looked  out  and  saw  Joyful, 
with  a  little  red  shawl  over  her  head,  walking  among  the 
rosebushes  and  searching  beneath  them.  What  was  she 

191 


i92  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

after  ?  Ah,  it  was  the  old  white  hen  who  had  come  off  her 
nest  with  a  brood  of  young  ducklings.  Mark  watched 
with  interest  while  Joyful  secured  the  scolding,  ruffled  old 
fowl  in  her  arm,  and  then  gathered  up  the  tottering  little 
brood  in  her  apron  and  carried  them  to  the  friendly  shelter 
of  the  shed,  and  fastened  them  in. 

He  saw  her  come  out  and  pause  a  moment,  with  her  face 
lifted  to  the  driving  rain,  flushed,  and  radiant,  and  whole- 
some. She  stretched  out  her  hands,  as  if  to  feel  the  wind 
and  rain  beat  on  her  bare  arms,  and  smiled.  What  was  she 
dreaming  about?  No  mystery  in  America?  No  flavor 
of  the  past?  Why,  there  was  a  whole  heaven  of  mystery 
in  that  child's  soul,  and  the  past  hung  its  rainbow  tints 
around  her  like  tissue  of  amethyst  and  gold. 

Of  course  there  was  no  poetry  and  no  mystery  in  New- 
port. What  was  Louise  doing  there,  and  why  would 
Aunt  Kate  haunt  those  resorts  ?  Money,  an  up-to-date  set, 
a  yachting  trip  with  a  lot  of  imitative  apes,  and  —  a  sweet 
longing  for  poetry  and  mystery.  Mark  laughed  aloud,  but 
not  pleasantly,  and  Mrs.  Heatherby  came  in  with  his  break- 
fast. 

"Laughin'  's  good  to  hear,  when  it 's  real  laughin',  Mr. 
Thorn."  She  set  the  tray  beside  his  bed,  and  looked  down 
at  him  kindly.  "Trying  to  make  the  best  of  a  bad  day?" 

"Yes.    There 's  nothing  else  to  do." 

"You'll  feel  better  when  you've  had  your  coffee.  It's 
in  for  an  all-day  rain,  I  'm  thinkin'." 

"I  'm  afraid  so,  and  this  weather  sets  my  head  thumping 
and  plays  the  devil  with  my  broken  bones.  I  '11  just  keep 
the  room  to-day,  and  to-morrow,  if  it  holds  up,  I  must  get 
back  to  my  work." 


THE  END  OF  AN  IDYLL  193 

The  old  lady's  face  clouded.  "Back!  to  Somers'? 
There 's  nobody  there  to  look  after  you,  'nd  you  might  have 
a  set-back.  I  Ve  always  noticed  there 's  never  anything 
gained  by  gettin'  in  a  fret." 

"No,  but  I've  troubled  you  long  enough,  and  received 
more  than  I  can  ever  repay.  Besides,  a  man  must  work. 
He  can't  lie  around  and  think  about  himself  all  day,  and 
live." 

"P'r'aps  so.  Men  're  impatient  creatures  by  nature.  I 
often  wonder  at  'em  —  but  there !  If  they  wan't,  they 
wouldn't  be  good  for  anything.  Somers,  he's  the  only 
patient  creature  I  ever  saw,  'nd  I  always  feel  like  gettin' 
after  him  with  a  sharp  stick." 

"He  served  me  a  good  turn  when  he  brought  me  here." 

"Yes,  'nd  if  he  had  n't  been  a  little  up  'nd  coming  for  once 
in  his  life,  he  'd  'a  been  too  late." 

"This  breakfast  is  good.  One  more  such,  and  I  must 
submit  myself  to  Mrs.  Somers'  ministrations  again.  I  Ve 
been  a  fortunate  fellow  these  few  weeks  past.  Won't  you 
just  examine  this  bandage,  and  see  if  I  can  dispense  with  it  ? 
I  'm  too  vain  to  appear  in  the  street  with  my  head  tied  up." 

"I  guess  you  be.  Anybody  c'n  see  that  in  your  eye. 
Well,  I  like  a  little  vanity  in  a  man,  myself.  It 's  good  for 
'em  'nd  keeps  'em  young.  I  Ve  always  noticed  't  if  a  man 
gets  where  he  don't  care  how  he  looks,  or  what  folks  think 
of  him,  he 's  pretty  low  down.  No  matter  what  he 's  been, 
or  what  he  might  be,  he 's  goin'  downhill,  if  he  ain't  already 
at  th'  bottom.  Now  you  eat  your  breakfast  'nd  stop 
fussing.  Bein'  impatient  and  a  bit  vain  's  all  right,  but 
frettin'  never  helped  a  body  to  a  thing.  It  just  drags  a  man 
all  out,  'nd  wastes  his  strength,  'nd  it 's  a  regular  man's 


194  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

failin',  too,  frettin'  is  Wait  till  I  take  your  dishes  down, 
'nd  get  your  room  red  up  'nd  then  we  '11  see  'f  it 's  healed 
where  the  Doctor  took  the  stitches  out." 

When  the  dear  old  lady  went  downstairs  with  the  break- 
fast tray,  she  sent  her  husband  up  to  visit  with  Mark  for 
a  while.  "Sometimes  it 's  kind  o'  quietin'  to  a  sick  person's 
nerves  to  be  talked  to,  'nd  sometimes  it  riles  'em  all  up. 
You  c'n  watch  out,  'nd  if  you  see  him  getting  restless,  better 
leave  him  to  himself  awhile  —  'nd  if  he  wants  that  bandage 
off  his  head,  you  kind  of  divert  him.  He  better  leave  it  on 
till  to-morrow,  anyway.  If  you  don't  help  him,  he  can't 
do  much  with  the  one  hand;  he  can't  get  the  other  up  to  his 
head  yet." 

Thus  did  the  good  people  connive  for  his  physical  well- 
being,  and  the  long  day  of  rain  slipped  by,  and  another  and 
another,  ere,  with  bandages  removed  and  hair  arranged 
over  the  wound  above  his  temple,  he  walked  forth  from 
his  refuge,  a  well-mended  man. 

A  letter  from  Nathanael  awaited  Mark  at  the  boarding 
house,  a  letter  full  of  enthusiasm  and  hope.  "I  am  to  start 
for  Colorado  to-morrow,"  it  ran.  "My  expenses  there  are 
to  be  paid.  If,  after  looking  over  the  ground,  I  am  willing 
to  undertake  the  work,  I  begin  my  duties  at  once.  If  not, 
I  pay  my  own  expenses  home  again,  should  I  choose  to  return. 
More  likely  I  would  prefer  to  remain  and  seek  some  other 
opportunity.  This  you  have  done  for  me.  You  have  set 
me  free  in  more  ways  than  one.  Never  again  can  I  become 
the  moping,  moody  fool  you  found  me.  I  am  awake  at 
last;  the  freedom  of  the  West  will  do  the  rest  for  me.  If  I 
take  the  position,  I  will  be  able  to  pay  father  the  money  he 
loaned  me  in  six  months'  time.  As  for  my  invention,  that  is 


THE  END  OF  AN  IDYLL  195 

yet  to  be  developed.  Whether  it  may  be  made  of  any 
practical  value  to  the  mine  owners  remains  to  be  seen.  I 
am  to  have  the  privilege  of  introducing  it  if  it  is,  and  my 
fortune  is  made ;  if  not,  at  the  least  I  am  a  free  man,  and 
will  have  my  salary,  and  beyond  that  lies  the  hope  of  my 
life.  You  know  what  that  is  —  you,  only,  my  friend. 
God  bless  you. 

"  I  hope  your  broken  bones  are  mended  and  your  head, 
whole.  I  wish  I  had  the  villain  who  did  that  job  for  you 
under  my  heel.  The  fact  that  I  was  not  allowed  to  do 
anything  about  it  still  rankles  within  me."  Mark  smiled. 
"Bless  his  heart,  he's  all  right;  but  if  he  ever  gets  the 
fellow  under  his  heel,  it  won't  be  I  who  put  him  there." 

Then  he  gathered  the  other  letters  that  were  lying  at 
his  hand  and  tore  them  rapidly  open,  one  after  another. 
A  bill  for  rental  of  studio,  a  bill  for  framing,  a  check  from 
the  sale  of  the  picture  Louise  had  written  him  about.  A 
note  from  a  dealer,  and  another  check  for  $200.  This  he 
endorsed  to  Mrs.  Heatherby,  and  inclosed  in  a  letter  ad- 
dressed to  her.  Then  he  went  down  and  bore  the  scrutiny 
and  gossip  of  the  boarding-house  table.  It  was  now  mid- 
summer, and  the  guests  who  usually  filled  that  abode  during 
the  warm  months  had  arrived.  These  consisted  for  the 
most  part  of  a  few  well-dressed  and  exceedingly  common- 
place women,  who  were  there  because  their  husbands  could 
come  out  Saturdays,  and  spend  their  Sundays  fishing,  with- 
out being  put  to  the  greater  expense  of  the  larger  watering 
places.  These  women  spent  most  of  their  time  sitting  out  in 
the  yard  under  the  apple  trees,  where  Mark  first  saw  Jane. 
There  they  sewed  and  talked  a  continual  stream  of  incon- 
sequent chatter  with  which  they  seemed  to  be  well  satisfied. 


196  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

Mark  found  his  room  hot  and  stuffy.  He  thought  the 
windows  could  not  have  been  opened  since  he  was  last  there. 
He  tried  to  raise  one,  but  found  it  impossible  to  pull  back 
the  snap  fastening  and  lift  the  sash  at  the  same  time  with 
but  one  sound  arm.  He  felt  like  smashing  the  panes 
through,  but  restrained  himself,  and  managed  after  a 
struggle  to  raise  the  window  enough  to  let  in  a  little  air  and 
several  flies,  which  buzzed  about  his  face  irritatingly  when 
he  stretched  himself  at  last  on  the  bed,  exhausted  with  heat 
and  the  mental  depression  which  had  taken  possession  of 
him  when  he  left  the  Heatherby  cottage. 

For  a  long  tune  he  lay  quiet,  yet  unresting,  unrefreshed. 
The  voices  of  the  women  in  the  little  orchard  yard  came  up 
to  him,  and  now  and  then  the  shrill,  discordant  note  of  Jane 
Somers'  laugh;  and  the  flies  continued  to  buzz  about  his 
face,  or  spin  round  and  round  and  bump  themselves  aim- 
lessly against  the  ceiling. 

"The  world  is  full  of  such  flies,"  he  thought.  "They 
wander  about  on  the  earth,  exist,  reproduce  their  kind,  and 
die.  They  bump  hideously  against  circumstances  which  they 
never  try  to  shape  or  mold  to  any  purpose.  They  hang 
upon  the  footsteps  of  time  and  serve  no  end  in  life,  until  their 
bodies  turn  into  dust  for  the  feeding  of  new  generations." 

He  rose,  dashed  water  over  his  head  and  face,  and  went  out. 
He  felt  he  should  turn  into  one  of  the  flies  if  he  remained 
there  a  moment  longer.  Below  the  distant  horizon  a  thun- 
der-storm was  brewing  and  muttering,  and  the  world  seemed 
stilled  by  the  ominous  threat.  Mark  thought  he  would  go 
to  his  barn  studio,  but  instead  he  turned  his  steps  towards 
the  Drews'. 

He  laughed  as  he  walked  up  the  path,  bare-headed,  and 


THE  END  OF  AN  IDYLL  197 

shook  the  first  drops  of  the  coming  storm  from  his  hair. 
Elizabeth  stood  in  the  doorway. 

"Has  the  storm  driven  you  back  to  us  ?  "  she  said.  " Then 
the  storm  is  welcome,  Mr.  Thorn."  She  was  disarmed. 
She  had  meant  to  treat  him  with  a  measure  of  coldness  when 
next  they  met,  as  the  mystery  of  his  hurt  and  reticence 
about  it  had  wrought  disagreeably  upon  her.  It  was  not  a 
pleasant  thing  to  think  about.  Why  could  n't  he  have  told 
Nathanael  at  least  enough  to  silence  the  rumors  rife  in  the 
village?  She  distrusted  concealment;  but  now  his  frank 
manner  and  his  pallor  and  evident  weariness  pleaded  for  him. 
She  threw  caution  to  the  winds  and  was  charmingly  cordial. 

"  Mother,  here  is  Mr.  Thorn.  We  're  so  glad  you  are  out 
again.  The  piazza  is  coolest.  Shall  we  sit  there  till  the 
storm  breaks  ?  Take  this  chair,  and  lean  your  head  back." 

"  Thank  you.  You  remember  the  first  time  I  ever  sat  on 
this  piazza,  I  sought  it  as  a  refuge  ?  I  have  the  same  reason 
for  seeking  it  now,  but  not  from  the  storm  this  time." 

"  Thee  is  not  at  the  Heatherbys'  now,  then  ?  " 

"  You  are  gifted  with  divination,  Mrs.  Drew.  To  hear  a 
refined  voice  or  a  strain  of  music  was  my  sore  need." 

"  Thee  is  welcome,  heartily  welcome.  We  have  missed 
thee,  Mr.  Thorn." 

"  It  is  more  than  kind  of  you  to  tell  me  so.  There  are 
black  moments  that  come  to  a  man  sometimes,  a  man  like 
myself,  without  a  home,  when  to  know  that  any  living  being 
would  miss  him  —  is  —  all  there  is." 

"  A  man  like  thee,  with  the  power  of  friendship  in  his 
soul,  has  always  that  consolation.  Thee  did  much  for  Mr, 
Stoddard." 

"  Nathanael  ?     Have  you  heard  from  him,  too  ?  " 


198  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

Mark  drew  out  his  letter  with  a  smile.  "He 's  all  right 
now.  What  he  needed  was  a  chance." 

"  And  that  thee  gave  him.  It  was  much.  Yes,  he  wrote 
us  he  had  gone  West,  not  to  return." 

"Why  should  he  return?  There  was  nothing  for  him 
here,"  said  Elizabeth,  going  to  the  piano.  "  What  shall  it 
be,  Mr.  Thorn?" 

"Oh,  thank  you.  Schumann  first,  after  that  whatever 
you  like.  The  last  evening  I  was  here  you  played  something 
I  have  wanted  to  hear  ever  since.  Joyful  used  to  sing  the 
air  when  she  sat  under  the  trees  sewing." 

"  Was  it  this  ?  "     She  began  playing  softly. 

"  Yes,  yes."  He  leaned  back  contentedly  and  listened 
with  closed  eyes.  His  senses  yielded  to  the  charm  of 
Schumann's  exquisite  subtlety  of  sentiment,  and  the  rev- 
elation of  the  music  seemed  to  him  to  be  Joyful  Heatherby 
—  her  face,  with  its  changing  lights  of  understanding,  her 
voice,  her  movements.  He  saw  her  walking  toward  him 
through  the  blueberry  pasture,  or  standing  for  him  in  a  rain 
of  golden  light  as  Undine.  He  saw  her  looking  up  into  his 
face  with  troubled,  tearful  eyes.  He  saw  her  as  she  moved 
about  the  room,  shaking  out  the  white  curtains  and  tying 
them  back.  He  saw  her  in  the  dusk  of  evening,  as  on  that 
first  night  she  sat  on  the  porch  step  holding  the  tuft  of  lilac 
bloom  to  her  face  and  gazing  up  at  the  black  sky.  Child 
she  was  then,  a  rare,  fair  child,  and  in  these  few  short  weeks 
he  had  watched  the  sweet  growth  of  womanhood  in  her.  As 
the  sultry  heat  closed  around  him,  and  the  storm  muttered 
low,  the  rhythm  and  swing  and  intertwined  harmonies 
searched  him  through.  He  felt  himself  yearning  for  her  — 
longing  for  her  with  growing  intensity.  He  rose  and 


THE  END  OF  AN  IDYLL  199 

stretched  out  his  arm  as  if  to  feel  for  the  still  scattering  drops 
of  rain,  but  he  was  conscious  the  act  was  prompted  by  the 
wish  to  reach  out  for  her  and  draw  her  toward  him.  He 
turned  and  strode  into  the  room  where  Elizabeth  sat,  and 
stood  by  the  piano,  watching  her  fingers. 

"What  does  that  make  you  think  of?"  he  asked. 

"The  world  as  it  is  just  now,  when  everything  is  sweet  and 
faint,  and  waiting  and  expectant.  Pretty  soon  the  storm 
will  come,  and  the  reviving.  There  ! "  She  struck  the  last 
chords  most  delicately  and  lightly.  "Now  —  everything 
is  waiting."  She  dropped  her  hands  in  her  lap  and  looked 
up  at  him.  He  was  very  pale,  and  seemed  weary. 

"Yes,  everything  is  waiting.  We  are  all  waiting,  I  im- 
agine, Nathanaelout  West — he  is  waiting  there,  and  we  here. 
What  are  we  all  waiting  for  ?  "  He  smiled,  and  crossed  over 
to  the  couch  where  her  mother  lay,  and  sat  down  beside  her. 

Elizabeth  smiled  also.  She  was  conscious  of  a  letter  from 
Nathanael  which  she  had  placed  in  the  bosom  of  her  dress. 
While  he  had  said  nothing  in  it  that  could  be  construed  into 
a  sentiment  toward  herself,  yet  through  it  all  had  run  an 
undercurrent  to  be  felt,  although  unexpressed,  which  had 
caused  her  to  place  it  there  and  keep  it  by  her.  In  her  heart 
she  knew  him  to  be  waiting  —  but  for  what  ?  Was  it  for 
Joyful  Heatherby  to  grow  up  ?  He  had  never  said  so  — 
indeed,  he  had  not  mentioned  the  child  of  late  —  and  yet  — . 

Mark  could  have  answered  her  thought,  but  with  a 
fatality  that  often  attends  such  tense  mental  conditions  he 
only  said, — 

"Have  you  seen  Joyful  lately?" 

"Not  very  lately;  why?"  In  her  heart  she  said: 
"The  mere  mention  of  Nathanael  makes  him  think  of  her. 


200  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

There  must  be  a  reasDn  for  their  being  coupled  together 
in  his  mind  "  —  of  course  she  was  right  in  her  surmise  — 
"Nathanael  loves  Joyful." 

"Because,"  Mark  replied,  "she  has  seemed  pensive,  al- 
most sad,  these  few  weeks  past." 

"Yes,  and  she  loves  Nathanael,"  she  thought ;  "why  else 
should  she  be  sad  at  his  going?"  But  aloud  she  said, 
"When  his  leaving  here  is  the  best  thing  in  the  world  for 
him,  why  should  she  be  sad?" 

Mark  looked  up  in  surprise.     "  Whose  leaving  ?  Jack's  ?  " 

"No,  Nathanael's." 

"Oh,  I  don't  think  she's  thought  twice  over  his  going. 
Why  should  she?" 

"Then  why  should  she  be  sad?"  she  reiterated. 

Mark  gave  her  a  keen  glance.  "The  man  is  nearer  his 
hope  than  he  imagines,"  he  thought.  "Why,  indeed?" 
he  asked.  "  Or  rather,  why  do  you  think  of  him  in  connec- 
tion with  her  sadness?" 

Elizabeth  felt  she  had  betrayed  herself.  She  rose  and 
looked  out.  The  rain  was  now  pelting  loudly  on  the  piazza 
roof.  The  air  had  taken  on  a  sudden  chill,  and  she  closed 
the  door. 

"  That  cool,  damp  breeze  is  refreshing,  but  we  would  better 
shut  it  out.  After  the  heat  and  your  walk,  it  maybe  too 
much  for  you." 

He  laughed.  "That 's  what  they  have  been  doing  at  the 
Heatherbys'  —  making  a  baby  of  me.  I  must  go  where 
people  won't  be  so  kind.  It  spoils  a  man." 

Mrs.  Drew  smiled.  "Does  thee  really  think  thee  is  tell- 
ing the  truth?" 

"No,  I  'm  not.     But  to  be  so  patiently  and  kindly  cared 


THE  END   OF  AN  IDYLL  201 

for,  to  be  mothered  as  that  dear  old  lady  has  mothered  me, 
has  a  tendency  to  produce  a  sort  of  inertia  of  contentment. 
A  man  likes  it  just  as  a  cat  likes  a  soft  cushion,  and  —  I  Jm 
no  hero." 

"  It  has  done  thee  no  harm.  What  will  thee  do  now  ?  Go 
on  with  the  work  in  thy  barn  loft?" 

"  I  don't  know.  The  old  man  may  turn  me  out,  now  that 
his  son  is  gone.  No,  I  '11  try  a  fashionable  watering  place 
for  a  while.  Not  that  it  really  suits  my  present  humor,  but 
from  a  sense  of  duty." 

"Does  duty  call  thee  there  ?  Does  thee  like  that  sort  of 
thing?" 

"Yes,  and  no,"  he  replied,  meditatively.  He  was  look- 
ing at  Elizabeth,  who  had  seated  herself  near  the  window 
with  some  light  embroidery.  A  dark  doorway,  crimson 
curtained,  was  behind  her,  and  her  head  was  brought  into 
strong  relief  against  it,  as  she  bent  forward  over  her  work 
in  the  light.  He  had  never  seen  red  hair  relieved  by  just 
such  a  background,  yet  how  beautiful  it  was.  He  must 
try  it.  "Since  you  and  your  daughter  have  often  enjoyed 
such  places,  it  would  hardly  be  courteous  of  me  to  express 
my  detestation  of  them;  but  you  must  make  allowances 
for  me  —  an  artist  is  more  or  less  of  a  barbarian  at  the  best. 
As  for  duty,  my  only  living  relative  is  there.  I  must  go  and 
prove  to  her  that  I  am  not  a  helpless  cripple.  She  writes 
me  she  will  not  believe  to  the  contrary  until  she  sees  me. 
She  really  loves  me,  and  as  she  is  the  only  one  who  un- 
feignedly  does,  it  is  her  right  that  I  go  to  her." 

They  all  remained  silent  for  a  time,  while  the  rain  de- 
scended furiously.  Then  Elizabeth  rose  and  left  them,  but 
presently  returned  with  tea  and  biscuit. 


202  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

"It  has  grown  so  much  cooler  I  thought  I  would  venture," 
she  said,  serving  Mark  with  a  steaming  cup. 

"I  am  grateful  for  it.  The  fury  of  this  storm  will  soon 
spend  itself.  I  sha'  n't  be  thrown  on  your  kindness  so  long 
as  I  was  that  first  time."  He  smiled.  "That  rainy  day 
was  a  godsend  to  me.  So  is  this,  for  that  matter." 

"It  brought  us  pleasure  also,"  said  Elizabeth.  "When 
do  you  go  to  Newport?" 

"To-morrow."  He  made  a  wry  grimace.  "I  shall  be  in 
a  very  different  atmosphere  there." 

"Why  do  you  go,  if  you  disapprove  of  it  so  much  ?" 

"To  please  my  aunt,  and  incidentally  for  certain  worldly 
reasons.  The  impecunious  artist  must  keep  in  touch,  in  a 
measure,  with  the  amassers  and  spenders  of  wealth.  He 
must  keep  abreast  of  the  fads  of  the  day,  and  know  whether 
purples  or  greens  are  the  prevailing  color.  He  must  stand 
subserviently  ready  to  be  taken  up  and  made  a  fad,  of  him- 
self, that  he  may  ride  to  fame  on  the  high  tide  of  popularity, 
all  sails  set  —  all  canvas,  I  should  say ;  moreover,  I  shall 
disappoint  a  friend  of  mine  —  if  I  don't  show  up  at  Newport 
sometime  during  the  season." 

The  storm  was  abating,  and  he  rose  and  went  out  on  the 
piazza.  "There  is  clear  sky  in  the  west,"  he  said,  as  he 
resumed  his  seat.  "When  it  reaches  the  zenith,!  must  go." 

"Thee  may  help  me  to  my  chair,"  said  Mrs.  Drew. 
"Give  me  thy  well  arm.  It  is  many  years  since  I  have 
crossed  a  room  without  the  aid  of  a  friend's  arm,  or  of  my 
friend  the  stick,  which  thee  has  placed  so  carefully  over 
there  in  the  corner,  where  I  can't  reach  it." 

"  I  'm  glad  I  did.  I  prefer  to  take  the  place  of  your  stick. 
But  now  I  '11  put  it  beside  you,  as  I  sha'  n't  be  here  to  have 


THE  END  OF  AN  IDYLL  203 

the  pleasure  —  for  a  long  time,  I  fear.  How  fast  it  is  clear- 
ing! I  must  be  gone  before  the  sun  comes  out  hot  again." 

"I  didn't  like  the  worldly  speech  thee  made  a  moment 
since,"  she  said,  looking  up  at  him  with  a  smile  on  her  fine 
old  face. 

"No?  neither  did  I,"  he  said,  with  a  laugh. 

"I  don't  think  Mr.  Thorn  meant  it,  mother." 

"I  'm  afraid  I  meant  too  much  of  it,  Miss  Drew." 

"Thee  can't  persuade  thy  aunt  that  thee  is  well  until 
thee  looks  more  rugged  than  thee  does  now.  Would  n't 
thee  better  wait  a  little?" 

"No,  I  must  go  while  this  interesting  pallor  is  still  upon 
me.  It 's  an '  ill  wind  which  blows  no  man  good.'  If  they 
see  I  am  not  long  for  this  world,  my  pictures  will  take  a 
sudden  rise  in  value." 

"I  'm  afraid  thee  is  flippant." 

"No,  no.  I  'm  in  earnest,"  he  said,  laughing  down  at  her, 
then,  suddenly  repentant,  he  took  her  hand,  bent  over  it 
and  kissed  it  like  a  courtier.  "Forgive  me,"  he  said. 
"  Good-bye,  Miss  Drew.  If  I  return  to  paint  or  to  remove 
my  things,  I  shall  hope  to  see  you.  Thank  you  both  for 
many  courtesies.  They  have  all  been  appreciated  and  will 
never  be  forgotten."  He  spoke  with  a  hurried  and  intense 
manner,  and  abruptly  left  them,  ere  they  could  utter  the 
usual  conventional  phrases  of  parting.  Suddenly  he  turned 
back.  "I  'm  afraid  I  've  been  very  abrupt.  I  can't  express 
myself  adequately.  Set  words  are  cold  covers  of  real  feeling. 
I  've  enjoyed  your  acquaintance  and  don't  wish  it  to  end 
here.  You  have  been  courageously  kind  to  a  stranger. 
Good-bye." 

"Indeed,  it  must  not  end  here." 


204  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

"It  has  been  a  pleasure  to  us  also,"  they  cried  in  one 
breath,  and  this  time  he  was  gone. 

The  next  morning  Mark  took  Somers  over  to  his  barn 
studio,  and  instructed  him  how  to  pack  his  few  belongings 
there,  and  taking  his  most  valuable  sketches  with  him.  he 
left  Woodbury  Center  without  seeing  Joyful  again. 

He  rode  over  to  Willoughby  Junction  in  the  democrat 
wagon,  through  the  drowsy  heat  of  midday,  his  trunk  rattling 
in  the  wagon  box  behind  him,  and  Somers  at  his  side  droning 
out  his  monologue  of  gossipy  reminiscence.  Mark  felt  too 
ill  to  heed  him,  and  braced  himself  in  his  seat  with  his  sound 
arm  to  prevent  the  continuous  jar  and  rattle  of  the  vehicle 
from  giving  him  acute  pain.  As  they  crossed  the  wagon 
way  through  the  woods,  Mark  felt  a  sudden,  maddening 
desire  to  turn  into  the  cool,  green  lane,  instead  of  proceed- 
ing on  his  way.  The  impulse  angered  him.  He  laid  it 
and  the  ever  recurring  image  of  Joyful  before  his  mental 
vision  to  his  present  physical  weakness,  and  inability  to  cope 
with  himself. 

"Yonder  a  leetle  ways  fu'ther  to  th'  left 's  where  I  found 
ye  that  day,"  said  Somers,  pointing  with  his  whip.  "I 
d'  know  's  I  sh'd  'a  found  ye  't  all  if  the  mare  had  n't  'a  taken 
a  fit  at  sight  o'  ye,  'nd  acted  like  Satan  possessed.  Beats 
all  the  sense  critters  has.  G'lang !  Well,  I  never  thought 
then  't  I  'd  ever  take  ye  out  o'  this  place  sittin'  here  on  th' 
seat  beside  me.  Did  think  't  I  might  fetch  ye  over  to 
Willoughby  Junction  in  a  box,  maybe.  G'lang!  " 

"Heavens,  man !  Look  out  over  these  stones  a  little, 
can't  you  ?  I  might  as  well  have  been  taken  over  in  a  box 
and  done  with  it,  as  to  be  tortured  to  death  now." 

If  there  was  any  one  of  his  fictions  in  which  Somers  took 


THE   END   OF  AN   IDYLL  205 

more  delight  than  another,  it  was  that  he  drove  a  spirited 
horse.  He  took  Mark's  exclamation  of  pain  as  a  compli- 
ment to  his  steed.  "Whoa,  Fan.  Whoa!  She  alluz 
does  want  to  go  like  Jehu.  I  clean  forgot  about  your 
broken  bones,  'nd  was  givin'  her  her  head  a  leetle.  Whoa  ! " 

But  with  a  switch  of  her  tail  and  a  jerk  of  her  head  to 
loosen  the  reins  on  her  bit,  the  mare  continued  her  usual 
ambling  trot,  unmindful  of  admonitions  either  for  haste  or 
moderation,  and  Somers  continued  his  flow  of  talk.  Thus 
was  the  weary  distance  at  last  covered,  and  Mark  found 
himself  again  passing  swiftly  away  from  the  place,  just  as 
he  had  come,  his  valise  and  sketching  outfit  at  his  feet, 
and  the  landscape  rushing  by  him  scarcely  heeded,  and  the 
problems  of  his  life  still  stirring  in  him  a  vague  unrest. 

As  he  neared  the  city  and  the  bustle  and  life  of  the 
suburban  stations  broke  upon  him,  the  events  of  the  past 
few  weeks  began  to  slip  back  into  a  chamber  of  his  mind 
occupied  by  dreams.  When  he  arrived,  he  went  first  to  his 
old  studio  rooms.  They  were  as  he  had  left  them  —  par- 
tially dismantled,  wholly  disordered.  His  paintings  had 
been  returned  from  the  exhibit,  and  stood  about  in  boxes. 
He  paced  up  and  down  the  long  room,  kicking  aside  as  he 
walked  the  pieces  of  wrapping  paper  and  bits  of  string  and 
pasteboard  that  littered  the  floor.  Well,  he  must  be  done 
with  dreams.  The  old  life  was  upon  him  again,  he  must 
take  it  up  and  mold  circumstances  to  his  own  ends.  On 
the  whole,  perhaps  he  would  better  not  go  back  to  Wood- 
bury  Center  at  all,  but  stay  where  he  was  and  work.  He 
turned  some  of  the  half-finished  canvases  from  the  wall, 
but  it  was  late,  the  lights  were  dim,  and  he  could  hardly 
trace  their  outlines.  Hungry  he  was,  but  weariness  over- 


2o6  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

came  his  desire  for  food,  and  he  stretched  his  length  on  a 
couch  in  one  corner  of  the  studio,  and  was  soon  asleep. 

Then  was  the  chamber  of  dreams  unlocked,  and  Joyful 
came  stealing  out.  He  saw  her  in  a  dense  wood,  and  it  was 
raining,  and  she  carried  the  white  hen  in  her  arms,  and  the 
young  ducklings  in  her  apron,  and  she  was  weeping  bitterly. 
He  tried  to  take  her  in  his  arms  and  comfort  her,  but  she 
was  gone,  and  he  found  he  was  leading  Louise  by  the  hand, 
and  they  were  walking  in  the  bed  of  a  turbulent  stream, 
and  Louise  said  to  him,  "Why  do  you  lead  me  in  this 
water  over  these  rough  stones?"  and  he  replied,  "I  am 
leading  you  to  the  cottage  of  Joyful  Heatherby.  The 
stream  will  take  us  there."  Then  he  turned  and  looked 
at  Louise,  and  behold  she  was  blind,  and  he  said,  "How 
did  you  become  blind?"  and  she  said,  "I  am  not  blind. 
I  am  walking  by  the  light  within,"  and  he  said,  "Then 
why  do  you  stumble  over  these  stones  in  the  water  ?  "  and 
Louise  cried  out,  "There  are  no  stones,  there  are  no  stones," 
and  she  fell  down;  and  when  he  tried  to  catch  her  in  his 
arms  and  save  her  she  seemed  to  slip  away  in  the  stream 
and  was  gone.  And  then  the  stream  turned  into  a  vast 
ocean,  and  the  woods  loomed  up  behind  him  black  and 
forbidding,  and  out  on  the  ocean  he  saw  Mr.  Heatherby's 
boat  tossing  about  without  sail  or  rudder,  and  Joyful  stood 
in  the  boat  and  called  him,  and  she  wore  the  pink  dress 
Elizabeth  had  fashioned  for  her,  and  her  arms  were  full  of 
blue  gingham  aprons.  Then  he  thought  the  boat  was 
drifting  farther  and  farther  away,  and  he  cried  out  to  her 
and  tried  to  walk  to  her  on  the  waves,  but  could  not,  and 
then  he  was  taken  up  and  tossed  hither  and  thither  in  the 
sea.  But  when  he  thought  he  was  lost  he  found  himself 


THE   END   OF  AN  IDYLL  207 

sitting  beside  Joyful  under  the  great  beech  tree,  and  she 
was  feeding  him  with  scalloped  tea  cake  and  milk.  And 
he  leaned  toward  her  to  kiss  her,  and  suddenly  there  was 
a  great  stamping  of  horses'  feet,  and  he  looked  and  saw 
that  Somers  was  leading  his  mare  about  the  studio,  and  try- 
ing to  back  the  democrat  wagon  through  the  hall  to  get  it 
into  the  elevator,  and  he  called  out  to  Somers  in  anger, 
"What  did  you  bring  that  beast  up  here  for?"  and  Somers 
replied  that  he  had  just  given  the  mare  her  head  and  she 
had  brought  him  there,  and  now  he  was  trying  to  get  her 
down  again,  whereupon  there  were  more  shouts  and  tramp- 
ling, and  Mark  awoke  to  the  realization  that  some  one  was 
pounding  furiously  at  the  door  of  the  studio.  It  was  the 
janitor  who  had  come  to  inquire  why  the  lights  were  turned 
on,  for  he  thought  Mark  was  in  the  country.  Then,  half 
famished,  and  with  aching  bones,  he  roused  himself,  and 
went  out  into  the  warm  summer  evening  to  seek  supper 
and  his  lodging. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

• 

MARK  RETURNS   TO   THE   WORLD 

"  O  Love !  what  art  thou,  Love  ?  the  ace  of  hearts, 

Trumping  earth's  kings  and  queens,  and  all  its  suits ; 
A  player  masquerading  many  parts 

In  life's  odd  carnival;  — a  boy  that  shoots 
From  ladies'  eyes,  such  mortal,  woundy  darts; 

A  gardener,  pulling  heart's-ease  up  by  the  roots ; 
The  Puck  of  Passion  —  partly  false  —  part  real  — 
A  marriageable  maiden's  beau  ideal." 

—  THOMAS  HOOD. 

LOUISE  PARSONS'  gowns  fitted  her  perfect  figure  to  per- 
fection. This  July  day  she  wore  a  white  dress,  and  upon 
her  well-poised  head  a  wide  halo  of  creamy  tulle  combined 
with  Marechal  Niel  roses,  underneath  which  her  soft,  light 
hair  rolled  back  from  her  smooth  brow  and  delicate  ears. 
She  was  driving  Scott  Stevens'  beautiful  horses,  and  enjoy- 
ing the  exhilaration ;  while  he,  at  her  side,  turned  half 
round  that  he  might  watch  and  enjoy  her.  Behind  them 
sat  a  wooden  man,  clad  in  Quaker  drab,  perched  on  a  small, 
high  seat,  and  apparently  neither  seeing  nor  hearing. 

"You  mustn't  speak  to  me  when  we  're  among  all  these 
carriages,"  she  said.  "I'm  afraid  I  sha' n't  manage  well. 
There  !  I  almost  scraped  their  wheel." 

"That  was  their  coachman's  fault.  He  had  no  business 
to  allow  you  to  come  so  near.  Pull  them  down.  That 's 
right.  Keep  them  to  a  steady,  even  pace,  and  let  them  feel 

208 


MARK  RETURNS  TO  THE  WORLD    209 

a  master  hand  holds  the  reins.  Bravo  !  I  '11  have  you  a 
splendid  whip  before  the  season's  over." 

"When  we  come  out  on  the  shore  drive,  where  there  are 
fewer  carriages,  it  will  be  easier,  won't  it?" 

"Yes,  but  they  always  want  to  go  there.  I  usually  speed 
them  a  little,  and  they  expect  it." 

"Ah,  that 's  what  I  would  like.  I  feel  like  flying.  Will 
you  let  me  speed  them  ?" 

"Certainly." 

"But  you  must  show  me  how." 

"I  will,  indeed.  Keep  a  little  more  to  the  right,  so  we 
can  fall  in  line." 

"Oh,  Mr.  Stevens,  I  had  forgotten  something.  Will  you 
tell  me  the  time  ?  I  'm  expecting  a  friend  at  five." 

"You  're  too  late.  It  is  half  past  that  hour  now."  He 
smiled,  looking  down  at  his  watch. 

"Oh,  dear  !  Oh,  dear !  Take  the  reins  and  turn  about 
quickly.  I  must  get  home  immediately." 

As  he  took  the  reins,  he  leaned  forward  and  glanced  into 
her  eyes.  "Is  it  a  matter  of  such  grave  importance  that 
you  must  be  there  when  your  friend  arrives?" 

"Indeed  it  is." 

Scott  Stevens  smiled  one  of  his  quiet,  disconcerting  smiles. 
"How  did  you  happen  to  forget  it?"  he  asked. 

With  a  slight  lift  of  her  chin,  she  turned  her  face  from  him 
toward  the  sea.  "Oh,  are  you  leaving  the  shore  drive? 
Then  I  can't  look  at  the  bay,  and  it 's  so  lovely  now." 

"Yes,  I'm  taking  you  home  by  a  quieter  way.  You 
did  n't  answer  my  question." 

She  settled  herself  in  quiet  dignity  at  his  side,  her  hands 
dropped  in  her  lap,  and  her  profile  toward  him.  "I  did  n't 


210  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

think  an  answer  was  required.  You  know  quite  well  how 
I  came  to  forget." 

"Yes,  that  is  pleasant,  but  I  wanted  to  hear  you  say  it, 
you  know.  I  don't  wish  you  to  remember  engagements 
when  you  are  driving  with  me." 

"Ah,  but  you  see  I  did." 

"But  too  late.  I  have  the  satisfaction  of  knowing  that 
you  forgot  for  a  while.  Here  's  a  fine  stretch  of  road,  and 
no  teams.  Shall  we  speed  them  a  little?  Will  you  take 
the  reins?" 

"Thank  you,  no.  I  'm  too  agitated  now.  Are  you  tak- 
ing me  home  ?  This  is  a  very  roundabout  way,  I  'm  sure." 

"What's  the  difference?  You're  too  late  to  meet  your 
friend  on  time  now,  anyway,"  he  laughed.  "You  have  the 
most  serene  way  of  showing  agitation  I  ever  saw." 

"It  is  my  religion  of  peace  that  brings  that  serenity.  I 
try  to  be  always  calm." 

"Well,  peace  is  a  very  good  thing.  I  like  it,  myself, 
especially  in  a  lady,  don't  you  know.  Now  you  take  the 
reins,  and  speed  them  a  little,  and  I  '11  show  you  how. 
Brace  your  feet,  and  keep  a  firm  grasp  on  the  lines,  so. 
Now  gently  draw  up  on  them,  that 's  right,  slowly  and 
steadily.  See  them  pick  up  their  feet  ?  Is  n't  that  pretty  ? 
They  skim  along  like  birds." 

And  so  they  did,  and  so  Scott  Stevens  dominated  Louise, 
and  so  it  was  that  Mark  Thorn  sat  and  visited  with  his  Aunt 
Kate  for  an  hour  before  his  love  came  to  him.  When 
Louise  was  lifted  from  the  vehicle,  they  sat  on  the  vast 
verandah  behind  a  screen  of  vines.  Scott  Stevens  glanced 
back  as  he  drove  away,  and  had  an  instant  vision  of  Louise 
drifting  like  a  white  cloud  up  the  white-pebbled  walk, 


MARK  RETURNS  TO  THE  WORLD        211 

between  gorgeous  mosaic  beds  of  coleuses,  holding  out  her 
two  hands  to  a  gentleman  in  evening  dress,  who  came 
down  to  meet  her,  and  who  took  the  two  hands  in  his  own, 
and  bending,  kissed  her  on  the  forehead. 

"Damn,"  he  muttered.  "Thought  Thorn  was  in 
France."  Then  he  smiled,  then  he  laughed  outright,  and 
started  the  team  to  a  faster  gait.  "If  I  were  Thorn  —  I 
see  myself  allowing  my  lady's  cool  airs  to  hold  me  off  to  a 
decorous  arm's-length  salute." 

Mrs.  Parsons  rose  with  dignified  reproach  on  her  well- 
bred  face.  She  was  slight,  staid,  and  delicate,  and  her 
fine  hands  had  held  a  prayer  book  every  Sabbath  day  for 
fifty  years.  Every  one  wondered  that  she  could  tolerate 
so  many  religious  vagaries  in  her  stepdaughter,  but  those 
who  knew  Louise  understood  it.  She  looked  up  in  the  tall, 
beautiful  girl's  face:  "Why  are  you  so  late,  dear?  You 
won't  have  time  to  dress  for  dinner.  It 's  being  served  now." 

Louise  kissed  her  cheek  lightly.  "Not  dress?  and  the 
first  evening  Mark  is  with  us  —  too  bad!" 

"Not  at  all.  You  are  charmingly  dressed  —  a  dream 
in  white." 

"Then  I  must  look  like  a  ghost,  Mark.  Dreams  in  white 
usually  are."  She  was  deliberately  divesting  herself  of 
hat  and  gloves,  and  as  Mark  watched  her  slow,  graceful 
movements,  and  down-dropped  lids,  he  felt  the  old  satis- 
faction in  her  beautiful  lines  and  coloring  stealing  over  him. 
Her  absolute  perfection  of  physique  filled  him  with  keen 
delight.  "What  an  exquisite  creature!"  he  thought,  but 
he  only  said  :  "Most  radiant  ghost,  most  heavenly  —  come, 
let 's  dine  and  waive  the  matter  of  dress.  Any  more  beauty 
just  now  would  make  me  faint.  I  'm  hungry  as  a  Turk." 


212  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

"No  wonder,  Mark.  You  are  the  ghost  of  yourself. 
You  look  as  if  you  had  n't  eaten  a  thing  since  you  left  us," 
exclaimed  his  aunt. 

"Then  come,  we  '11  dine,"  said  Louise.  "  But  to  be  hungry 
as  a  Turk  is  nothing.  The  Turks  are  all  Mahomedans  in 
religion,  and  abstemiousness  is  part  of  their  creed,  you 
know." 

"No,  I  didn't  know.  I  always  thought  them  rather 
portly,  sensual  old  duffers." 

"Now,  Mark,"  she  slipped  her  hand  through  his  arm, 
"we're  not  going  to  begin  quarreling  the  first  thing,  are 
we?" 

"No,  dear,  no.  Suppose  I  just  kiss  you,  by  way  of 
variety."  He  placed  one  finger  under  her  chin,  and  turned 
her  face  up  to  his.  She  submitted  calmly.  "You  are 
charmingly  cool  this  warm  evening." 

"Don't  be  silly,  Mark.     Come,  Mamma  Kate." 

Throughout  dinner  Louise  was  animated,  charming,  and 
affable,  while  Mark,  sitting  opposite  her,  thoughtfully 
studied  anew  her  personality.  He  felt  vaguely  a  change 
either  in  himself  or  in  her.  What  was  it  ?  A  charm  lost, 
or  a  charm  added  —  or  was  it  a  reversal  of  his  own  view- 
point ?  He  watched  the  movements  of  her  fingers  as  she 
toyed  with  the  spoon  in  her  ice,  and  the  fire  in  the  opal  she 
wore,  and  the  turn  of  her  wrist,  and  the  round  of  her  arm ; 
and  at  the  same  time,  as  if  extended  to  him  out  of  the  realm 
of  dreams,  he  saw  another  hand  holding  toward  him  a 
violet,  and  a  voice  saying:  "Everything  has  beauty,  you 
know.  This  has.  A  soul  must  be  greater  than  just  beauty, 
or  Undine  would  have  been  enough  without  it." 

He  put  up  his  hand  as  if  to  brush  cobwebs  from  before 


MARK  RETURNS  TO  THE  WORLD   213 

his  face,  and  tried  to  concentrate  his  thoughts  on  what 
Louise  and  his  aunt  were  saying.  They  were  telling  him 
all  the  news  of  his  set  and  their  own. 

"You  have  come  down  just  in  time,  Mark.  Mr.  Stevens 
is  fitting  up  his  yacht  in  the  most  charming  taste,  and 
sparing  no  expense.  I  heard  them  say  he  wished  he  could 
have  your  help." 

"You  may  go  now,  Stokes,"  said  Mrs.  Parsons,  speaking 
to  the  man  behind  her  chair.  "And  tell  Hart  that  we  will 
want  the  carriage  at  a  quarter  to  nine,  promptly.  We  shall 
wish  to  be  there  early,  sha'  n't  we,  Louise  ? " 

"Yes,  indeed,  —  nine  won't  be  a  minute  too  soon." 

"What  is  going  on?"  asked  Mark. 

"Mr.  Stevens  gives  a  dance  at  the  Casino  to-night,  and 
I  promised  to  go  early,  for  Mamma  Kate  is  one  of  the  host- 
esses. You  must  go  with  us,  Mark,  for  the  New  York 
crowd  will  be  there  in  full  force.  Boston's  well  enough 
as  far  as  family  goes,  but  when  it  comes  to  spending  money, 
you  must  get  into  the  New  York  set." 

"I  suppose  you  must."  Mark  smiled,  and  crushed  an 
almond  shell  between  his  fingers. 

"You  needn't  look  down  and  smile  in  that  way.  You 
know  well  enough  that  in  order  to  be  really  practical  in 
your  art  you  must  have  to  do  with  the  spenders  of  money." 

"Certainly,  certainly.  Now,  Louise,  come,  Aunt—  "  he 
lifted  his  glass  on  high,  "A  toast  to  the  spenders  of 
money.  Long  may  they  spend." 

"Then  you  '11  go  with  us  ?" 

"Shall  be  delighted." 

"Come,  Mamma  Kate.  You  will  see  her  in  the  loveliest 
gown  in  the  world,  Mark.  It 's  far  prettier  than  mine." 


214  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

"A  fine  gown  me^ns  only  one  thing  at  my  age." 

"What  do  you  mean,  Mamma  Kate?" 

"That  I  need  it.    You  would  better  hurry,  Louise." 

"Oh,  I  have  time  and  to  spare.    We  can  look  at  your 
sketches  first,  Mark.     Where  are  they  ?     Send  for  them.     I 
always  say  it 's  most  important  for  paintings  to  look  well 
by  artificial  light,  for  they  are  usually  seen  in  that  way  — 
even  in  galleries.    What  have  you  been  doing?" 

"Mostly  nature  studies  —  some  ideals."  He  took  the 
portfolio  from  Stokes'  hand  and  began  tossing  on  one  side 
canvas  after  canvas. 

"Let  me  see  them  all.    Won't  you?" 

"You  won't  care  for  those.  I  '11  show  you  the  more 
finished  pieces."  He  drew  out  a  sketch  of  the  sea,  with  an 
old  boat  on  the  sands,  and  set  it  before  them,  but  Louise 
was  looking  at  the  canvases  he  had  thrown  out. 

"You  know  I  always  like  most  the  ones  you  like  least. 
Now,  what's  this?  One  of  your  ideals?  You  see  it's 
perfectly  fascinating."  She  held  up  the  painting  he  had 
made  of  Joyful  as  she  posed  for  Undine  in  the  wood. 
"What's  it  for?  I  mean  what  is  the  idea?  No,  don't 
put  it  back  with  those.  Hold  it  for  me,  so. " 

He  reluctantly  held  it  in  the  light  for  her. 

"Look,  Mamma  Kate !  Mark,  you  certainly  are  im- 
proving. What  is  it  for?" 

"I  don't  know  that  it 's  for  anything." 

"You  know  what  I  mean  —  the  idea  —  what  is  it  ?  A 
mermaid  ?  Of  course  not,  for  she  would  n't  be  dressed,  if 
it  were,  but  it  would  make  a  lovely  panel.  Mr.  Stevens 
wants  three  for  the  saloon  of  his  yacht.  It  would  be  just 
the  thing  for  your  summer's  work,  Mark.  He  said  he  was 


MARK  RETURNS  TO  THE  WORLD        215 

going  to  get  some  really  celebrated  artist  to  do  them,  and 
I  thought  of  you  immediately." 

"Call  me  celebrated,  do  you?    Thanks." 

"Well,  you  are  going  to  be  sometime,  you  know.  That 's 
what  I  wanted  to  see  these  for.  Those  panels  were  in  my 
mind." 

Mark  tossed  the  picture  one  side  and  selected  another. 
"How  would  this  do  —  a  leafy  glade?" 

' '  A  leafy  glade  in  a  boat !  You  should  have  something  per- 
taining to  the  sea.  Have  n't  you  anything  more  in  there  ?" 

"Yes,  fifty  things." 

"Come,  show  them  to  us,  Mark." 

"Oh,  we  haven't  time  now,"  he  said,  resolutely  replacing 
them  in  their  case.  He  looked  in  a  moment  haggard  and 
worn. 

"If  Mark  is  to  be  up  half  the  night  with  us,  he  must  rest 
now.  You  forget,  Louise,  that  he  has  been  hurt  and  ill." 

"Indeed,  no.  One  can't  forget  —  you  look  wretchedly, 
Mark.  But  after  all,  that  pallor  gives  you  an  interesting, 
poetic  air.  Doesn't  it,  Mamma  Kate?  Every  one  will 
see  that  you  are  a  genius  now.  Go  and  rest.  I  would  n't 
miss  having  you  with  us  this  evening  for  anything.  You 
look  so  distinguished  that  you  are  quite  adorable.  I  '11  go 
now.  Do  be  ready  in  time." 

Mark  laughed,  and  thoughtlessly  seized  the  great  port- 
folio with  the  wrong  hand  and  swung  it  around,  giving  his 
lame  shoulder  a  wrench.  He  compressed  his  lips  with  the 
pain.  Louise  was  gone,  but  his  aunt  saw  the  movement 
and  the  look,  and  called  Stokes. 

"Wait  a  moment,  Mark,"  she  begged,  as  he  started  to 
follow  the  man  to  his  room.  "Tell  me,  dear,  I  did  n't  ask 


216  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

because  I  know  you  hate  a  fuss,  but  —  why  could  n't  you 
have  told  me  ?"  She  laid  her  hand  on  his  arm,  and  looked 
sadly  up  in  his  face. 

The  look  reminded  him  of  his  mother,  and  he  stooped  and 
kissed  her.  "You  mustn't  be  so  solicitous  about  me,  dear 
little  auntie.  Don't  you  know  I  've  traveled  half  the  world 
over  and  taken  pretty  good  care  of  myself  ?  This  was  an 
ugly  fall,  but  I  'm  well  mended,  only  a  little  sore  still." 

"But  I  might  have  come  to  you  and  taken  care  of  you,  if 
you  had  only  let  me  know." 

"I  had  excellent  care,  aunt,  with  the  kindest  and  dearest 
old  people,  who  could  n't  have  been  better  to  me  if  I  were 
their  own  son." 

"Well,  you  '11  rest  now.  Don't  mind  if  you  do  keep  us 
waiting.  It  won't  matter  in  the  least." 

But  Mark  did  not  rest.  He  sat  in  his  room  with  the 
picture  of  Undine  before  him,  thinking.  He  wondered 
why  he  had  brought  it  with  him,  and  yet  he  knew.  It 
was  that  he  might  study  it  in  just  this  way  alone ;  but  he  had 
not  meant  to  show  it  to  them  —  at  least  not  yet  —  perhaps 
sometime,  when  he  had  carried  out  his  idea,  and  it  was 
placed  on  exhibit,  —  or  —  .  He  tossed  his  head  back  and 
laughed,  then  began  pacing  his  room. 

"Scott  Stevens'  yacht,"  he  said,  and  then  he  laughed 
again.  "  I  '11  make  something  for  that  boat,  though,  if  I 
get  the  chance,  to  please  Louise,  but  it  shall  not  be  this." 
He  carefully  replaced  it  and  locked  the  portfolio,  and 
again  paced  his  room.  Presently  he  went  down,  and 
waited  thirty  minutes  looking  over  papers  and  magazines, 
before  the  ladies  appeared.  He  thought  he  had  never 
seen  Louise  so  beautiful,  and  admired  her  frankly. 


MARK  RETURNS  TO  THE  WORLD    217 

"I  might  make  a  portrait  of  you  for  the  yacht.  I  could 
make  a  deep  sea-green  background,  and  the  yellow  sheen  of 
this  satin  would  be  like  yellow  moonlight.  Oh,  I  have  it, 
I'll  paint  you  as  the  spirit  of  Fingal's  Cave." 

She  laughed,  and  took  his  arm.  "Come,  Mark,  don't 
be  silly.  We  're  going  to  be  awfully  late,  Mamma  Kate, 
but  then  we  have  a  good  excuse  —  Mark's  visit,  you 
know,  and  this  being  the  first  evening  —  so  much  to  talk 
over." 
t  "I  Ve  been  down  here  ready  for  half  an  hour  or  more." 

"You  ungenerous  man,  to  speak  of  it !  Don't  you  dare 
say  a  word  when  I  make  our  excuses  to  Mr.  Stevens;  and, 
Mark,  if  you  don't  feel  like  dancing,  you  need  n't.  I  '11  sit 
out  your  dances  with  you." 

"Will  you?    What  if  I  prefer  to  dance  them  out?" 

That  evening  Louise  had  her  way.  She  thought  Mark 
had  never  been  so  interesting  —  so  gay  and  debonair. 
She  easily  secured  Scott  Stevens'  promise  to  call  next  day 
and  look  over  Mark's  works  with  a  view  to  selecting  sub- 
jects for  the  panels,  and  he  had  proposed  that  they  should 
spend  the  afternoon  on  board  the  yacht. 

"You  know,  Mark,  we  can't  begin  too  soon,  for  he  is  to 
sail  in  three  weeks,  if  the  yacht  is  ready,  and  you  will  need 
all  that  time  and  more,"  she  said,  as  they  drove  away  that 
night. 

"We  must  begin  immediately,  must  we?"  He  empha- 
sized the  "We." 

"Of  course,  Mark."  She  leaned  back  wearily  in  her 
corner  of  the  carriage,  and  lightly  played  with  her  fingers 
on  her  knee  the  notes  of  a  waltz.  It  was  the  last  waltz,  and 
she  had  danced  it  with  Scott  Stevens. 


218  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

Mark  took  the  hand  in  his  and  kissed  the  fingers  before 
he  returned  it.  "Very  well,  then,  we'll  begin  to-morrow." 

"And  I  want  particularly  that  he  should  see  the  study  I 
admired  so  much  this  evening." 

"Ah,  but  I  can't  show  him  that  one." 

"Now,  Mark.     Are  you  going  to  be  disagreeable?" 

"No,  Louise.     Are  you?" 

"But  why  not  let  him  see  that  one?" 

"Because  I  have  other  plans  for  it." 

"Mark,  don't  you  know  that  —  every  one  knows  that 
Mr.  Stevens  can  have  the  very  finest  artist  in  Europe  paint 
these  panels?  He  has  said  he  would.  He  could  have 
Puvis  de  Chavannes,  if  he  chose.  If  he  has  you  to  do  these 
it  will  be  because  I  ask  him." 

"How  do  you  know  he  could  have  the  finest  artist  in 
Europe  ?  " 

"Because  money  can  buy  everything." 

"Everything  except  that  sketch,"  said  Mark,  with  a 
smile. 

"Why  are  you  so  fussy  about  that  particular  one?" 

"Why  do  you  wish  him  to  see  it?" 

"Because  it  may  make  all  the  difference.  He  might  give 
you  the  commission  just  because  of  a  fancy  for  that  one. 
He  might  not  care  for  another  thing  you  have." 

"So?  I  thought  he  was  to  give  it  to  me  because  you 
asked  it" 

"Mark,  you  are  perfectly  dreadful  to-night." 

He  took  her  hand  again,  but  she  drew  it  away.  "No. 
You  're  not  to  kiss  my  hand  again  until  you  explain  your- 
self." 

"Very   well."    He   ceased   his   bantering   manner   and 


MARK  RETURNS  TO  THE  WORLD        219 

straightened  himself.  "If  I  accept  a  commission  from 
Scott  Stevens  to  paint  the  panels  in  his  yacht,  I  will  con- 
sider the  matter  and  paint  what  I  think  best.  On  the  whole, 
I  think  I  won't  show  him  my  sketches  at  all." 

"How  proud  you  are.  But  he  will  have  to  see  what 
kind  of  work  you  are  doing." 

"He  knows  well  enough.     He  has  been  to  the  exhibits." 

"That's  just  the  trouble.  Your  work  attracted  so  little 
attention  there." 

"And  he  has  spent  hours  in  my  studio  in  Paris  watching 
me  paint.  He  knows  as  well  now  as  it  is  in  him  to  know. 
He  would  know  no  better  if  he  lived  a  hundred  years  — 
not  if  he  belonged  to  the  fraternity  of  artists,  and  he  used 
to  think  he  did.  No  —  I  won't  show  him  the  sketches." 

"Mark  !  and  I  have  asked  him  to  see  them.  You  're  not 
going  to  allow  your  pride  to  stand  in  the  way  of  such  an 
opportunity  ?  " 

"No.     My  pride  shall  further  the  opportunity." 

The  carriage  stopped  and  Mark  alighted  and  handed  the 
ladies  out,  and  then  took  his  aunt's  arm.  "You  are  tired, 
Aunt." 

"Yes,  Mark.  And  don't  try  to  argue  that  matter  out 
to-night.  Go  to  bed,  both  of  you,  and  settle  it  to-morrow." 

"Very  well,  Mamma  Kate.  Good  night,  Mark,"  said 
Louise  sweetly,  and  they  parted.  But  they  were  saved  all 
the  trouble  of  adjusting  their  differing  opinions  next  day 
by  Scott  Stevens  himself.  A  note  from  him  at  breakfast 
invited  them  to  drive  out  in  his  drag  to  a  distant  golf 
links  with  a  party,  to  lunch  at  the  club  there,  and  then 
return  by  way  of  the  dock,  and  spend  the  afternoon  on 
board  the  yacht. 


220  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

"This  falls  in  with  my  wishes  perfectly,  since  you  won't 
show  him  your  sketches.  Shall  I  accept  for  you,  Mark  ?  " 

"Certainly." 

"And   you,    Mamma   Kate?    He   says    there    will    be 
Charlie  Van  Burgh,  and  Mrs.  Renolds,  and  May  Carlie  — 
she  is  an  English  girl  with  whom  he  is  desperately  in  love, 
and  Mrs.   Renolds  is  fabulously  rich  and  very  dashing. 
He  's  trying  to  make  up  his  mind  between  the  two  — 

"Who  is?" 

"Charlie  Van  Burgh.  He  has  been  carrying  on  a  double 
flirtation  all  the  season.  We'll  see  who  has  the  upper 
hand  now,  by  the  one  he  chooses  to  sit  beside  during  the 
drive  —  he'll  give  you  the  other  one." 

"Will  he?"  said  Mark,  with  a  laugh.  "And  who  sits 
with  you?" 

"Make  my  excuses,  Louise.  I  sha'n't  be  needed,  if 
Mrs.  Renolds  is  of  the  party,  and  you  may  say  I  have  a 
headache."  Mrs.  Parsons  looked  weary,  and  betook 
herself  to  the  hammock  on  the  verandah  with  a  novel,  while 
Louise  disappeared  to  write  and  dispatch  her  note. 

But  evidently  Mark  was  to  have  no  option  as  to  where 
he  should  Sit,  or  with  whom.  When  Scott  Stevens  drove 
up,  the  seating  had  all  been  arranged.  May  Carlie  and 
Van  Burgh  occupied  the  last  seat,  just  in  front  of  the  two 
liveried  gentlemen  balancing  themselves  on  their  respec- 
tive perches  at  the  rear  —  Mrs.  Renolds  in  the  middle, 
alone,  and  Scott  Stevens,  with  an  empty  seat  beside  him, 
handling  the  reins  and  skillfully  managing  two  pairs  of 
beautifully  matched  horses. 

Mrs.  Renolds  and  Mark  had  met  three  years  before  in 
Paris  —  her  husband  was  living  then  —  Van  Burgh  was  an 


MARK  RETURNS  TO  THE  WORLD    221 

acquaintance,  and  May  Carlie  was  a  stranger.  She  was 
pretty,  fair,  and  slender,  with  a  complexion  of  pink  and 
white  English  roses.  Mark  was  presented  to  her,  then  he 
assisted  Louise  to  her  place  beside  Stevens,  and  climbed  to 
his  own  seat  with  the  gracious  and  smiling  widow. 

He  had  felt  the  keen,  practiced  measurement  she  was 
making  of  him  while  he  stood  bare-headed  beside  the  drag 
during  the  moment  of  his  introduction  to  Miss  Carlie. 
Now  as  he  settled  himself  beside  her,  she  turned  and  looked 
at  him  again  with  a  veiled  glance  of  curiosity  that  rested 
but  an  instant  on  his  face,  then  shot  past  him  to  a  recogni- 
tion of  a  passing  acquaintance. 

"I  am  glad  you  haven't  forgotten  me,  Mr.  Thorn." 

"That  would  be  impossible,  Mrs.  Renolds." 

"You  were  such  an  earnest  student  in  those  days.  You 
never  took  time  to  make  a  real  acquaintance,  did  you?" 

"Acquaintances,  yes  —  many.    Friends,  very  few." 

"I  thought  as  much.  And  do  you  work  as  hard  now,  or 
do  you  live  a  little?" 

"  I  do  both,  by  fits  and  starts.  Just  now  I  am  thinking  of 
living  a  little  while,  if  that 's  what  you  mean  by  idling  about 
here." 

"Ah,  yes.  I  suppose  it's  living.  Then  this  is  a  good 
time  to  renew  our  acquaintance,  I  take  it.  In  those  days 
I  only  knew  you  through  my  husband.  He  had  a  great 
opinion  of  you." 

"Thank  you."  They  sat  then  for  an  instant  of  con- 
strained silence,  while  the  couple  in  front  of  them  talked 
easily  on,  and  the  couple  behind  them  kept  up  a  running  fire 
of  repartee,  or  what  served  them  as  well,  and  laughter. 

Scott  Stevens   held   to  the  program   he   had   outlined 


222  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

to  Louise  in  his  note.  They  bowled  along  now  by  the  sea, 
now  past  beautiful  residences  and  well-kept  grounds,  now 
through  bits  of  woods,  and  meadows  so  fair  and  fields  so 
well  tilled,  that  the  landscape  seemed  one  vast  park,  over 
smooth  roads ;  and  Mark  thought  of  his  painful  ride,  jolt- 
ing over  stones,  from  the  Somers'  boarding  house  to  Wil- 
loughby  Junction,  which  now  seemed  far  away  and  impos- 
sible. He  looked  at  the  poised,  graceful  figure  in  front  of 
him  beside  Scott  Stevens,  with  the  old  sensation  which 
always  went  through  him  when  taking  cognizance  of  her 
exquisite  femininity,  and  wondered  again  why  he  should 
always  turn  from  thoughts  of  her  to  thoughts  of  Joyful  — 
why  he  should  forever  be  contrasting  the  two  ? 

In  the  afternoon  the  party  took  possession  of  the  yacht, 
roaming  about  as  they  chose. 

"Who's  doing  this  for  you?"  asked  Mark,  as  Scott 
Stevens  was  showing  him  the  saloon,  walking  with  his  arm 
thrown  over  Mark's  shoulder.  "Where  did  you  get  your 
color  scheme  ?  Gold  and  blue  and  green.  It 's  very  good." 

"The  scheme 's  my  own." 

"But  it's  tremendously  artistic." 

"Why  the  but?  After  three  or  four  years'  companion- 
ship with  a  lot  of  fellows  like  you,  why  should  n't  it  be  ? 
I  must  have  been  an  idiot  not  to  imbibe  a  few  ideas." 

"And  a  fine  setting  for  the  panels,  if  the  right  subjects 
are  chosen." 

"Well,  what  would  you  propose  ?"  asked  Scott 

"A  leafy  glade  for  one,"  said  Louise,  demurely. 

Mark  smiled.  "I  have  better  ideas  than  that."  He 
returned  her  glance. 

l,"  said  Scott,  "make  a  suggestion  now," 


MARK   RETURNS   TO  THE  WORLD        223^ 

"  I  '11  do  it.  In  the  first  place,  since  the  color  scheme  has 
not  been  created  for  the  panels,  they  must  be  created  for  it." 

"  Is  that  intended  for  a  sarcasm  ?  "  asked  Scott. 

"Not  at  all.     Merely  stating  a  fact." 

"Very  well  —  go  ahead  with  your  ideas." 

Mark  laughed,  and  turned  away  with  another  glance  at 
Louise. 

"Go  on,  go  on,"  cried  Scott. 

"On  one  condition.  That  you  understand  I  'm  not  mak- 
ing a  bid." 

"Ha,  ha,  ha.     I'll  understand  anything  you  like." 

Miss  Carlie  and  Mrs.  Renolds  joined  them  at  this  point, 
and  Mr.  Van  Burgh  followed  in  their  wake.  "Paint  the 
ladies,"  cried  he.  "Put  one  in  each  panel.  There's  Miss 
Carlie  in  front  of  one  now.  Perfect ! "  He  stepped 
backward  and  looked  at  her  through  his  hand." 

"  Capital  idea  —  eclipses  mine.  Mrs.  Renolds,  we  '11 
paint  you  as  the  spirit  of  Fingal's  Cave  —  the  type  of  Celtic 
beauty ;  and  Miss  Carlie  —  " 

"  Mr.  Thorn  !  Did  n't  you  propose  to  paint  me  in  a  deep 
sea-green  Fingal's  Cave  motive?  How  base,  to  slight  me 
now,"  murmured  Louise. 

"Ah,  but  I  forgot  for  the  moment  the  peculiar  style  of 
your  beauty.  I  can  make  a  Saxon,  or  a  Grecian  of  you,  but 
a  Celt,  never.  If  you  — 

"And  what  about  me,  were  you  going  to  say,  Mr. 
Thorn  ?  "  asked  Miss  Carlie. 

"The  Loreley  —  sitting  on  a  rock  —  as  the  poem  has  it 
—  combing  her  wonderful  hair  in  the  evening  glow,  and 
luring  poor  boatmen  to  their  death  with  her  singing." 

"How  gruesome  I  '11  be !" 


224  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

"Ah,  but  very  beautiful !" 

"And  Miss  Parsons?"  asked  Scott  Stevens. 

"Shall  be  the  fair  Melusina." 

"Done,"  cried  Stevens.  "You  have  the  order.  Ladies, 
you  hear  ?  " 

"  I  'm  ready,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Renolds,  laughing  merrily. 

"For  what?"  cried  May  Carlie.     "Would  you  dare?" 

"  For  what  ?  Why,  to  be  immortalized  —  and  dare  ? 
I  'd  dare  anything." 

"Miss  Parsons,  will  you  take  the  dare?"  asked  Scott. 

"I  can't  say  I  like  the  part  Mr.  Thorn  has  assigned  me, 
but  if  it 's  a  dare,  yes." 

"Bravo!"  cried  Van  Burgh. 

"Louise,  will  Aunt  Kate  allow  me  the  use  of  that  upper 
north  room  for  a  few  weeks,  do  you  think  ? " 

Louise  laughed.  "Is  there  anything  she  would  not 
allow  you,  Mark?" 

"Mrs.  Renolds,  will  you  give  me  your  help  for  a  week  ?" 

"Gladly.    What  shall  I  wear?" 

"Ah,  what,  indeed?" 

"You  said  yellow  satin  last  evening,  for  that  character, 
Mark." 

He  looked  critically  a  moment  at  Mrs.  Renolds,  then 
turned  toward  Louise.  "What  I  said  last  evening  does  n't 
count.  It  isn't  much  matter  what  you  wear,  so  that  the 
neck  and  arms  are  not  covered.  I  '11  use  drapery  and  a  girdle, 
at  any  rate.  It  must  be  semi-barbaric,  you  know."  He 
went  to  a  workman  who  was  fitting  in  a  buffet  and  bor- 
rowed a  two-foot  rule,  and  began  measuring  the  panel 
space  with  it. 

"How  long  will  it  take  you?"  asked  Scott  Stevens. 


MARK   RETURNS   TO  THE   WORLD        225 

"I  can't  say.  You  leave  soon.  How  long  will  you  be 
gone  ?  " 

"I  didn't  purpose  returning  until  September." 

"Very  well,  I  '11  have  them  ready  on  your  return,  but  I 
must  tax  you  ladies  during  the  next  three  weeks  pretty 
heavily,  to  get  the  studies  made." 

"  Capital !  I  shall  spend  a  while  cruising  about  in  the 
Mediterranean  next  spring,  early,  you  know,  and  I  '11  have 
some  distinguished  guests.  This  saloon  will  be  a  unique 
thing."  He  looked  about  him  with  pride.  "Yes, if  they 
have  anything  better  to  show  me  over  there,  why  —  they 
may  show  it." 

"I've  been  on  board  several  of  our  English  yachts,  and 
they  are  not  nearly  so  nice,  Mr.  Stevens,"  said  Miss  Carlie. 

"Thanks  tremendously.  And  now  that  I  am  to  have 
the  help  of  you  ladies,  Thorn  will  eclipse  anything  ever 
ventured  on  before." 

Then  they  strolled  to  other  parts  of  the  craft,  and  Scott 
Stevens  took  Louise  to  the  side,  and  looked  over  at  the 
workmen  who  were  busy  down  below. 

"What  are  they  doing?"  asked  she. 

"Painting  out  the  old  name.  She's  to  be  re-christened, 
and  sail  hereafter  under  a  name  that  will  be  a  mascot  for 
her  safety." 

"What  name  is  that?" 

He  smiled,  and  said  in  a  low  tone,  "Louise." 


CHAPTER  XIV 

A  TOUCH  OF   WORLDLY   WISDOM 

Ah,  Lady  wise,  tell  me  what  lies 

Beneath  the  softness  of  those  eyes. 
That  veiled,  swift  glance  —  but  half  askance, 

Is  it  a  tribute  or  a  lance  ? 
Thought  half  revealed  —  hope  half  concealed, 

Lies  there  a  lucent  spring  unsealed  ? 
In  those  dark  deeps,  what  vision  sleeps  ? 

Hide  they  a  heart  that  laughs,  or  weeps  ? 

THREE  weeks  had  passed.  Mrs.  Parsons  and  Louise 
were  gone  with  the  Scott  Stevens  party  for  their  month's 
cruise,  and  Mark  walked  alone  by  the  sea.  Not  that  he 
needed  to  be  alone ;  he  might  have  had  the  companionship 
of  Mrs.  Renolds  had  he  asked  it.  That  lady  not  being  one 
of  the  party,  and  Van  Burgh  having  finally  made  his  choice 
—  as  it  was  generally  believed  —  and  taken  the  English 
girl,  she  also  was  alone. 

Mark  had  just  passed  her  where  she  sat  apart,  a  book  in 
her  lap,  her  head  resting  on  her  hand,  and  her  gaze  fixed 
on  the  distant  horizon.  He  might  have  asked  her  to  stroll 
on  with  him,  but  he  merely  lifted  his  hat.  Had  Van  Burgh 
really  given  her  up,  or  had  she  dropped  Van  Burgh,  was  the 
question  in  Mark's  mind,  as  he  walked  on. 

During  the  past  three  weeks  he  had  seen  almost  as  much 
of  her  as  of  Louise.  The  two  had  been  much  together, 
and  when  her  own  sittings  were  done  she  had  still  accom- 

226 


A  TOUCH  OF  WORLDLY  WISDOM        227 

panied  May  Carlie  and  Louise,  while  he  was  painting  from 
them.  She  told  Mark  it  was  a  privilege  to  bring  back  the 
old  times  when  she  used  to  visit  his  studio  in  Paris.  Now 
as  her  eyes  followed  his  retreating  figure,  she  lifted  her 
shoulders  with  a  slight  shrug.  "Of  course  he 's  genuinely 
in  love  with  Louise  —  but  she  -  Mrs.  Renolds  rose, 
and  sauntered  slowly  along,  keeping  her  finger  in  her  book 
at  the  place  where  she  had  been  reading.  "What  a  fool ! 
I  '11  wager  she  does  n't  see  a  penny's  value  of  difference  be- 
tween him  and  Scott  Stevens.  I  Ve  a  mind  to  give  her  a 
lesson  in  values." 

She  went  on  down  the  beach  and  sat  with  her  back  to  the 
direction  Mark  had  taken,  and  resumed  her  reading.  When 
he  returned  she  looked  up  and  smiled,  and  moved  a  scarcely 
perceptible  inch  farther  to  the  end  of  the  seat.  He  dropped 
into  the  place  at  her  side,  and  taking  up  her  book  began 
mechanically  turning  the  leaves. 

"Why  are  you  roaming  up  and  down  the  beach  here?" 
she  asked,  still  smiling.  "Do  you  feel  it  incumbent  on 
you  to  eschew  all  companionship  while  Miss  Parsons  is 
absent  ?  I  'm  sure  she  does  n't  demand  such  asceticism." 

"She?     Oh,  no,"  he  laughed. 

They  sat  silent  then,  while  Mark  stared  at  the  book, 
turning  the  pages  one  by  one. 

"Let  me  take  it,"  said  Mrs.  Renolds  at  last,  and  he  gave 
it  to  her.  She  closed  it  and  folded  her  hands  over  it  in  her 
lap.  "Now,"  she  said  roguishly,  "tell  me  what  it 's  about." 

"What  about?  Why  —  it's  a  treatise  on  —  how  the 
moon  came  to  be  made  of  green  cheese." 

"I  knew  you  were  mooning  and  not  seeing  it.  I  Ve  gone 
back  to  the  study  of  the  classics." 


228  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

He  held  out  his  hand  for  the  book  again,  and  she  returned 
it  "Ah,  'Rosalind.'" 

"Yes,  I  'm  studying  the  part.  We  're  to  give  it  in  the  Van 
Burgh  grounds.  I  think  it  will  be  a  unique  thing.  Not  only 
the  actors,  but  all  the  guests,  are  to  be  in  costume.  I  was 
asked  to  see  you  to-day  —  they  wish  you  to  take  the  part 
of—" 

"Touchstone?" 

"Of  Jacques.  There's  no  one  who  could  do  it  so  well. 
You  would  have  to  age  yourself  and  make  up  a  good  deal, 
but  that  could  be  easily  done." 

"Thanks.    You  have  asked  me  most  cleverly." 

"Then  you  will  do  it?" 

"  Impossible !  You  see,  I  don't  quite  belong  to  your 
leisure  set.  I  return  to  Boston  to-morrow." 

"Indeed?  Has  Newport  no  attractions  since  Louise 
Parsons  left?" 

"It  isn't  that."  Mark  was  one  who  had  no  currency 
for  blandishments.  He  appeared  positively  obtuse.  "I'm 
going  to  spend  the  rest  of  my  summer  in  my  studio." 
Suddenly  he  turned  and  looked  at  her.  It  was  the  gaze 
of  an  artist.  She  had  seen  her  brother  regard  a  horse  he 
was  appraising  with  the  same  expression.  "Do  you  know, 
I  believe  I  'm  going  to  make  a  fine  thing  out  of  that  panel 
of  yours." 

"Don't  call  it  mine ;  and  promise  me  you  will  disguise  the 
likeness.  It  is  too  apparent." 

"That  isn't  necessary.  It  will  be  quite  as  ideal  if  I 
do  not." 

"Oh,  you  artists  are  incorrigible." 

"What  now?" 

"That 's  not  the  reason  I  wish  it  disguised." 


A  TOUCH  OF  WORLDLY  WISDOM         229 

"Why  else?" 

She  laughed  good  humoredly.    "But  I  'm  vexed,"  she  said. 

"At  what  are  you  vexed  ?    Surely — " 

"Because  you  refuse  to  take  the  part." 

"Oh,  but  you  see,  I  must." 

"No,  I  don't  see." 

"I've  given  my  promise  to  do  certain  paintings  before 
September,  and  —  there 's  a  more  sordid  necessity  than  the 
keeping  of  the  promise." 

"Artists  should  never  be  under  any  sordid  necessity." 

Mark  smiled.    "  Poor  devils,"  he  said,  "  they  always  are." 

"Ah,  if  I  could  have  my  way  they  would  n't  be." 

"Then  there  would  never  be  any  art." 

"Why  not?  Everything  would  be  spontaneous.  They 
would  work  because  the  spirit  moved  them,  and  not  under 
the  lash  of  necessity." 

' '  B  ecause  they  would  be  a  set  of  miserable  ingrates.  D  on't 
you  know  that  artists  are  born  idlers?  If  it  were  not  for 
the  lash  of  sordid  necessity  I  would  be  playing  Jacques  in 
the  Van  Burgh  grounds,  instead  of  painting  panels  for  the 
Stevens  yacht."  He  rose  and  placed  the  book  again  in  her 
hands.  "I  must  go  now,"  he  said.  He  saw  Van  Burgh 
strolling  toward  them.  "You  will  have  better  company  — 
and  let  me  thank  you  again  for  helping  me  as  you  did. 
We  '11  have  a  good  thing  of  it  if  I  can  only  do  my  part." 
He  departed,  leaving  his  place  to  Van  Burgh. 

"That  was  very  kind,"  exclaimed  the  latter.  "Very 
considerate  of  him.  You  see,  I  've  come  back  again,  Mrs. 
Renolds." 

"I  see,"  she  looked  at  the  ocean. 

"You  weren't  expecting  me." 

"  Not  exactly,  no."    She  was  wondering  if,  after  all,  Mark 


230  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

knew  just  what  he  was  about.  Van  Burgh  wiped  his  brow, 
and  placed  his  hat  at  his  feet. 

"It 's  deucedly  warm,"  he  said. 

"You  must  have  been  exercising,"  she  looked  provokingly 
cool. 

"Yes,  I  Ve  been  hunting  you  up." 

As  for  Mark,  he  did  not  wait  for  the  next  day,  he  departed 
that  same  evening  for  the  city.  There  he  toiled  in  his  studio 
through  the  heat  of  August,  and  the  measure  of  his  success 
became  the  amount  he  was  to  receive  for  his  labor.  He 
took  time  for  recreation  rarely,  and  when  he  did  so,  he 
went  about  alone.  He  never  had  worked  more  incessantly 
nor  with  more  definite  purpose ;  moreover,  he  worked  well ; 
yet  he  was  not  satisfied  with  himself. 

Before  the  month  was  over,  he  decided  to  leave  Boston, 
and  open  a  studio  in  New  York  where,  after  Louise  returned, 
the  social  demands  on  his  time  would  be  less.  To  this  end 
he  spent  the  first  week  of  September  in  the  latter  city,  hunt- 
ing up  a  suitable  location.  Most  of  his  friends  were  out  of 
town,  but  he  did  not  care.  The  fever  of  work  was  on  him, 
and  his  aim  was  more  to  avoid  interruption,  than  to  seek 
diversion. 

One  evening,  after  a  hot  and  fatiguing  day,  as  he  was  stroll- 
ing toward  the  park,  where  it  was  his  intention  to  have  a  quiet 
smoke,  a  carriage  drew  up  to  the  curb  some  paces  in  front 
of  him,  and  he  became  aware  of  the  intent  and  smiling 
regard  of  its  one  occupant. 

"  Mr.  Thorn !  I  thought  I  could  not  be  mistaken.  I 
saw  you  as  I  passed  on  the  side  street,  and  turned  back. 
What  a  pity  you  would  n't  play  the  melancholy  Jacques 
for  me !  You  take  the  part  so  perfectly  in  life." 


A  TOUCH  OF  WORLDLY  WISDOM        231 

"Mrs.  Renolds !  I  didn't  know  you  were  in  town. 
Why  aren't  you  still  playing  the  beautiful  Rosalind  at  New- 
port ?  That  f ascinating  resort !  What  charm  has  drawn 
you  away?" 

"The  interesting  people  left." 

He  took  the  vacant  place  at  her  side  in  obedience  to  her 
glance.  "Apropos  of  the  play,  weren't  you  mistaken? 
I  was  just  now  playing  Hamlet,  not  Jacques.  My  mood 
was  not  engendered  by  sylvan  solitude.  I  had  my  share 
of  that  earlier  in  the  season." 

"Ah,  yes.  Louise  told  me  you  ran  away  and  had  an 
accident  in  some  unfortunate  maneuver,  and  were  nearly 
killed." 

"Not  so  bad  as  that.  A  broken  bone  or  two,  merely,  so 
long  ago  that  the  event  is  forgotten." 

"Does  every  event  fade  out  of  your  life  so  quickly? 
Then  your  stay  in  Paris  must  be  quite  gone." 

Mark  laughed.  "Not  entirely,  not  entirely,  Mrs.  Ren- 
olds." 

"You  remember  the  Capucine  friar  at  the  artists'  fete, 
once  upon  a  time?" 

"I  remember  the  Cinderella  who  danced  with  the  friar, 
and  cut  the  traditional  prince." 

"I  know  you  were  going  to  the  park  for  a  solitary  smoke. 
Don't  let  me  spoil  the  hour  for  you.  You  see  I  'm  taking 
you  there.  Won't  you  smoke  now?" 

"Thanks,  my  desire  for  the  solitary  is  gone.  I  prefer 
conversation  and  companionship.  Tell  me  what  goes  on 
at  Newport." 

"Nothing,  now.  I  simply  fled  from  ennui.  The  same 
peoole,  the  same  events — .  My  house  here  is  being  ren- 


232  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

ovated,  and  I  came  to  look  after  it.    What  did  you  come 
for?    Are  the  panels  done?" 

"Done?  No.  Nothing  is  ever  done.  They  may  be  put 
up,  however.  I  shall  work  no  more  on  them." 

"Louise  told  me  yesterday — " 

"What!  Are  they  returned?  Beg  pardon  —  what  did 
she  tell  you?"  Mark  looked  straight  before  him.  His 
companion  watched  him  without  turning  her  head. 

"Am  I  really  giving  you  news  then?"  she  asked,  with  a 
slight  lift  of  her  brows.  They  had  entered  the  park,  and 
she  gathered  the  reins  firmly  and  allowed  her  beautiful 
horse  a  more  rapid  gait.  Her  manner  implied  much  more 
than  her  words,  and  Mark  felt  a  momentary  pique  that  he 
had  betrayed  his  ignorance. 

"  I  expected  them  a  week  ago,  but  as  they  did  n't  put  in  an 
appearance  I  thought  to  spend  the  interval  as  best  I  could. 
I'm  moving  my  studio  to  New  York."  He  took  out  a  cigar 
and  lighted  it,  turning  his  face  away  from  her.  "You  see 
I  accept  your  permission — thanks.  What  did  Louise 
tell  you?" 

"She  said  —  but  I  really  think  she  did  n't  know  you  were 
to  leave  Boston — " 

"No,  it  was  a  sudden  decision." 

"Why  do  you?    Is  this  a  better  art  center?" 

"I  hardly  know.  Either  is  very  good  for  this  country; 
the  only  real  art  center,  from  my  standpoint,  is  Paris.  But 
to  return — " 

"Ah,  yes.  The  yacht  came  in  three  days  ago.  She  said 
she  had  no  idea  where  you  were — and  that  she  went  with 
your  aunt  to  your  studio,  and  saw  the  panels.  So  you  see, 
when  I  spied  you,  I  thought  I  had  made  a  great  find." 


A  TOUCH  OF  WORLDLY  WISDOM         233 

"You  did,  indeed.  I  'm  glad  myself  to  know  where  I  am. 
Did  she  say  how  she  liked  them?" 

"No,  but  she  must  have  liked  them.  You  never  do  poor 
work." 

"I'm  not  so  sure." 

"I  am.  Do  you  think  I  would  have  sat  for  that  panel 
if  I  were  not  ?  Now  I  've  only  one  change  I  wish  made. 
It/s  too  nearly  a  portrait,  not  enough  of  a  type." 

"But  it  is  quite  as  ideal,  as  it  is.    I  told  you  so." 

"I  remember,  and  I  told  you  artists  were  incorrigible." 

"How  so?" 

"The  individual  is  nothing  to  an  artist — his  art  is  all 
he  thinks  of.  Did  you  think  I  sat  for  you  in  order  to  grace 
Scott  Stevens'  yacht?" 

He  turned  about  and  looked  squarely  at  her,  and  noticed 
that  she  appeared  younger  than  she  had  three  years  ago  in 
Paris.  She  was  the  wife  of  a  year  then;  now  she  had  been 
a  widow  two  years.  She  was  beginning  to  lighten  her  mourn- 
ing a  little,  and  wore  a  most  charming  costume  of  gray 
without  any  relief  or  accent  save  that  given  by  her  abundant 
dark  hair  and  her  eyes.  The  thought  flashed  upon  him 
that,  although  he  had  painted  from  her —  and  she  had 
posed  faithfully  that  week  at  Newport  —  he  had  not  con- 
sidered her  personality,  nor  fully  realized  her  charm.  He 
did  not  speak  for  a  moment. 

"Yes,"  she  continued,  smiling.  "You  did  n't  look  at  me, 
you  know.  You  saw  my  arms  and  my  shoulders,  the  poise 
of  my  head,  my  complexion  and  my  hair,  but  you  did  n't 
see  me.  Confess  now,  did  you  ? "  She  looked  suddenly 
and  frankly  in  his  eyes  for  the  first  time  during  their  con- 
versation, and  he  felt  his  senses  reel.  His  mind  was  carried 


234  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

back  three  years,  and  for  a  moment  he  seemed  to  be  whirl- 
ing about  in  a  rapid  waltz,  with  her  in  his  arms.  He  put  up 
his  hand  as  if  to  brush  something  from  before  his  eyes,  and 
laughed. 

"Is  n't  it  enough  that  I  see  you  now  ?  I  confess  nothing. 
You  must  confess  to  me.  Why  did  you  sit?" 

She  turned  away  with  a  smile.  "  Ah,  you  have  confessed 
very  completely,  Mr.  Thorn.  You  did  n't  see  me,  you  saw 
Louise,  and  what  you  were  to  receive." 

"Why  did  you  sit?"  he  asked  savagely. 

"I  sat  for  you,  Mr.  Thorn.  You  needed  a  fresh  model, 
and  I  wished  to  see  your  success." 

"You  sat  for  me  at  Van  Burgh's  suggestion.  How  was  I 
to  know  you  cared  to  have  me  see  in  you  anything  more  than 
a  model?" 

"You  are  quite  right,"  she  said  sweetly.  Then  after 
a  pause,  during  which  he  had  time  to  see  what  a  brute  he  had 
been,  she  resumed,  "I  was  only  making  a  plea  that  you 
should  destroy  the  likeness.  I  wish  no  one  to  see  more  in  the 
picture  than  you  saw." 

"I  will  destroy  the  whole  thing,  if  you  wish,"  he  said 
grimly. 

"But  that  is  not  what  I  wish.  It  is  beautiful.  If  you 
will  pardon  me  I  will  tell  the  truth  —  which  is  quite  uncon- 
ventional—  it  is  the  most  beautiful  panel  of  the  three." 

"  I  grant  it.  Then  why  not  leave  it  as  it  is  ?  Why  did 
you  sit  at  all?  What  do  you  really  wish?" 

"Since  I  'm  in  the  business  of  telling  the  truth,  I  '11  answer 
your  questions.  I  sat  because  I  wanted  you  to  have  the 
order  —  not  for  the  money  there  might  be  in  it,  although 
that  ought  to  be  considerable  —  but  because — " 


A  TOUCH   OF  WORLDLY  WISDOM        235 

"Thank  you.    Continue,  please." 

"Because  of  the  notice  you  would  get.  It  is  absurd,  but 
the  truth  —  in  this  country  you  will  gain  more  popularity 
from  those  paintings,  among  those  who  will  see  them,  than 
you  would  from  the  finest  effort  in  an  exhibition.  I  knew, 
moreover,  that  if  I  posed  for  you  it  would  secure  you  the 
order.  Scott  Stevens  really  knows  no  more  about  art  than 
an  elephant,  although  he  likes  to  pose  as  an  art  connoisseur. 
What  he  really  wanted  was  something  unique — even  bizarre. 
That  three  beautiful  women  —  pardon  me  —  who  have 
an  undeniable  position  in  Paris,  New  York,  or  London  posed 
for  them  would  be  all  he  could  ask.  I  also  knew  that  neither 
of  the  others  would  pose  for  you  if  I  refused.  Now  you 
understand  why  I  ask  to  have  the  hint  of  likeness  destroyed. 
I  was  willing  —  nay  glad  —  to  serve  you,  even  at  Van 
Burgh's  suggestion,  but  I  am  not  willing  to  serve  Scott 
Stevens." 

"I  have  been  very  obtuse.  It  shall  certainly  be  done. 
I  would  demolish  the  whole  thing  gladly,  rather  than  that 
you  should  have  a  moment's  annoyance." 

"Would  you  defeat  my  purpose?  No,  —  change  the 
personality." 

"Yes,  yes."    He  was  regarding  her  intently. 

"Do  you  see  me  now  ?"  she  asked,  with  a  merry  twinkle. 

"You  are  very  hard  on  me.  How  shall  I  please  you  ?  I 
will  do  whatever  you  wish." 

"Then  cease  looking  at  me  as  if  I  were  a  model  being 
appraised  for  a  picture,  and  regard  me  as  a  friend.  Here 
I  have  brought  you  back  to  the  place  where  I  found  you, 
and  do  you  really  think  you  know  where  you  are  ? "  she 
laughed  lightly. 


236  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

"No.  I  know  less  where  I  am  than  ever  before  ;  but  — 
I  have  learned  my  lesson.  If  ever  you  catch  me  again 
looking  at  you  as  if  you  were  a  model,  put  my  eyes  out." 
They  were  silent  after  that,  and  she  pulled  the  horse  down 
to  a  walk.  Presently  Mark  spoke  again.  "You  say 
Stevens  has  no  art  in  him.  He  designed  that  saloon,  did 
he  not?  It  is  most  artistic." 

"Believe  me  —  a  woman  gave  him  his  ideas." 

Mark's  face  lighted.  "Was  it  you?  He  told  me  the 
scheme  was  his  own." 

She  smiled  again.  "It  was  not  mine.  And  now,  father 
confessor,  I  am  in  the  confessional  no  longer.  I  shall  not 
tell  you  what  woman  gave  him  the  ideas,  but  they  are  not 
his." 

"This  was  most  kind  of  you,"  said  Mark,  as  he  alighted 
from  the  carriage. 

"The  pleasure  was  mine.    When  do  you  return  ?" 

"To-morrow." 

A  shade  passed  quickly  over  her  face.  "Then  I  sha'n't 
see  you  again.  Too  bad,  since  I  shall  remain  here.  Good- 
bye." 

"But  I'm  to  be  located  in  New  York  hereafter,  you 
know." 

"Ah,  yes.  I  am  pleased."  She  drove  rapidly  away, 
and  Mark  stood  for  a  moment  looking  after  the  gracefully 
rounded  figure  in  the  smart  little  trap. 


CHAPTER  XV 

PREMONITIONS  FULFILLED 

The  years  ?    Nay  count  them  not,  for  they  are  not. 

Thy  life  ?     A  part,  a  point,  a  flash  made  visible, 

Of  that  vast  whole  men  call  eternity. 

Thy  soul  ?     Yea,  that  thou  art,  apart  from  fears  of  life  or  death. 

Thy  soul,  and  God  —  take  cognizance  of  these, 

And  of  thy  neighbor's  soul.    These  are  the  whole. 

These  dwell  in  one  eternal  verity 

Of  youth,  of  spring,  and  fruitage  —  all 

Encircled  in  the  vast  eternal  Love, 

Glad,  palpitating  in  refulgent  light. 

Live  out  thy  span,  yet  know  thyself  a  part  of  this. 

Drink  to  the  dregs  thy  bitter  cup  or  glad  ; 

Yea  live,  and  love  and  sing  ;  yea,  laugh  and  weep ; 

And  let  thy  body  be  down  swallowed  in  the  vast 

Of  ocean's  deep,  or  be  held  clod  bound  in  the  grave  ; 

All  these  must  pass.    Thy  soul,  thy  neighbor's  soul,  and  God  endure, 

Are  verities,  and  part  of  God's  eternal  Now  of  joy. 

THE  last  weeks  of  summer  slipped  quietly  and  swiftly 
away,  and  early  frosts  opened  the  chestnut  burrs,  and  cast 
a  mantle  of  glory  upon  the  earth.  The  harvest  moon  hung 
like  a  burning  globe  over  the  sea,  and  the  long  mysterious 
path  of  light  that  Joyful  so  loved  stretched  over  its  wrinkled 
surface  from  the  horizon's  edge  to  the  shore  line  at  her  feet. 
She  could  stand  now  in  the  still,  sweet  evenings  and  dream 
her  dreams,  for  Jack  was  very  far  away  and  would  not  dis- 
turb her.  He  seemed  to  have  gone  out  of  her  life.  She 

237 


238  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

had  shed  him  as  she  had  shed  her  short  frocks,  and  if  he  had 
returned  she  would  no  longer  have  feared  him. 

Sometimes  she  wondered  that  he  never  wrote  her,  but 
then  dismissed  the  wonder  with  the  thought  that  he  was 
still  angry  with  her.  Moreover,  in  the  past  she  had  not  been 
in  the  habit  of  receiving  letters,  for  she  knew  no  one  with 
whom  to  correspond,  unless  when  Elizabeth  was  away, 
and  then  the  letters  were  few,  and  she  had  not  fallen  in  the 
way  of  looking  for  them.  Now  and  again  her  grandfather 
heard  from  Nathanael,  in  business  letters  concerning  matters 
in  which  she  had  no  interest.  She  only  learned,  vaguely, 
from  them,  that  he  was  somewhere  in  the  vast  West,  work- 
ing in  some  great  and  large  way  such  as  was  never  heard  of  in 
their  little  village,  and  doing  wonderful  things. 

Elizabeth,  too,  heard  from  Nathanael,  but  in  his  letters  he 
never  mentioned  Joyful.  She  marveled  at  this,  and  in  her 
heart  she  treasured  a  slight  feeling  of  resentment  toward 
him  for  it.  Did  he  imagine  her  in  love  with  him,  that  he 
took  such  pains  to  conceal  from  her  this  passion  for  the  child  ? 
What  had  she  to  do  with  his  affairs  other  than  to  take  in 
them  the  kindly  interest  of  a  friend  ?  She  wondered  if  he 
wrote  to  Joyful,  but  scorned  to  question  her ;  and  Joyful, 
whose  heart  was  quite  at  peace  concerning  him,  never  men- 
tioned his  name.  Then  Elizabeth  was  troubled  and  grew 
solicitous  for  Nathanael,  that  he  should  be  loved  by  the  one 
he  had  chosen,  as  he  deserved  to  be. 

Sometimes  she  tested  Joyful  by  mentioning  his  name,  or 
speaking  of  his  success  or  loneliness  off  there  at  his  new 
work,  when  she  watched  the  girl's  face  for  some  sign  from 
her  heart,  but  was  ever  disappointed.  She  would  only  say 
she  was  glad  or  sorry,  as  the  case  might  be,  with  never  a 


PREMONITIONS   FULFILLED  239 

flush,  nor  a  quiver  of  an  eyelid  to  betray  a  deeper  feeling 
underneath.  She  was  gay  and  full  of  merry,  girlish  chatter, 
learning  to  fashion  her  own  dresses.  She  walked  over  to 
show  Elizabeth,  with  delight,  the  stuff  her  grandfather  had 
bought  her  for  a  new  dress  —  a  strong  material,  thick  and 
warm,  for  the  fall  was  upon  them.  She  was  happy  over 
some  quaint  old  stitches  of  embroidery  her  grandmother 
had  taught  her,  and  brought  her  work  to  Elizabeth,  who 
gazed  at  it  not  seeing,  only  thinking  sadly,  "  The  child  does  n't 
understand  —  she  is  too  young  and  unformed  —  she  can't 
appreciate  him  nor  love  him  as  he  deserves." 

Then  Elizabeth  took  more  pains  to  teach  Joyful.  She 
made  her  practise  her  music,  and  sing  until  she  warbled 
like  a  bird,  and  Mrs.  Drew  would  praise  her. 

"Thee  sings  beautifully,  Joyful.  One  of  these  days  thee 
will  be  married  and  become  the  mistress  of  a  home,  and  then 
thee  will  be  glad  of  this  accomplishment.  Thee  will  fill 
thy  house  with  song  and  teach  thy  children."  Then  she 
added,  turning  to  her  daughter,  "I  never  could  honestly 
hold  to  the  tenet  of  the  Friends  as  to  the  sinf  ulness  of  music. 
I  longed,  when  I  was  young,  for  such  instruction  as  thee  is 
giving  Joyful." 

"Why,  Mrs.  Drew !  Did  they  think  it  a  sin  to  sing?" 
asked  Joyful,  who  sat  with  her  guitar  on  her  lap,  b'ghtly 
picking  the  strings. 

"They  hold  it  to  be  a  snare  of  the  world." 

"  I  'm  glad  thee  did  n't  hold  it,  too,  mother.  What  would 
I  have  been  without  my  music?"  said  Elizabeth. 

"  I  think  I  have  this  now.  Sing  with  me,  '  Ladye  Faire.' 
Sing  and  see  if  I  have  the  time."  So  they  sang  together 
Schubert's  beautiful  song,  "The  Wanderer*" 


24o  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

"Your  time  is  all  right.  Now  try  if  you  can  play  it  with- 
out your  notes."  Elizabeth  had  simplified  the  accompani- 
ment for  the  guitar. 

"You  know,"  said  Joyful,  tossing  back  a  ringlet  that  fell 
across  her  cheek,  "I  always  think  of  three  people  when  I 
play  this." 

"Of  whom  does  thee  think,  dear?"  asked  Mrs.  Drew. 

"I  think  of  Jack  Stoddard  first.  You  know  he  went  away 
first."  She  could  think  of  him  now  without  flushing  and 
paling,  yet  she  seldom  mentioned  his  name.  "And  then 
I  think  of  Nathanael  and  Mr.  Thorn.  Only  Nathanael  could 
hardly  be  called  a  wanderer,  now  that  he  is  staying  in  one 
place  and  working  so  hard,  —  and —  I  don't  know  whether 
you  could  call  Mr.  Thorn  a  wanderer  either,  for  he  loves  a 
beautiful  lady,  and  he 's  probably  working  hard,  too,  in  his 
studio." 

Elizabeth  laughed.  "How  do  you  know  that  of  Mr. 
Thorn?"  she  asked. 

"  Because  he  made  a  drawing  of  her  once,  in  his  notebook, 
and  when  I  asked  him  if  he  was  in  love  with  her,  he  would  n't 
tell  me,  but  I  know.  Either  he  was  in  love  with  her  and 
did  n't  want  to  be,  but  could  n't  help  himself,  or  else  he  could 
help  himself,  and  did  n't  wish  to ;  but  he  's  a  lover,  all  right. 
You  know  men  have  to  be  lovers  so  they  can  have  something 
to  be  good  and  true  about,  and  Mr.  Thorn  said  that  in  order 
to  be  a  true  knight,  like  the  knights  of  old,  a  man  had  to  do 
some  good  great  thing  for  the  lady  he  loved,  and  achieve 
something.  I  think  that  is  what  he  is  trying  to  do  now." 

"Then  you  don't  think  he  is  a  wanderer?" 

"I  don't  know.  A  lover  and  a  knight  might  be  a  wan- 
derer—  he  might  have  to  be  to  achieve  something.  Jack 


PREMONITIONS   FULFILLED  241 

would  like  to  be  a  lover,  but  he  wouldn't  care  anything 
about  the  other.  He  never  cared  about  knights,  anyway." 

The  two  women  exchanged  glances.  "  Why  does  the  song 
make  thee  think  of  Nathanael  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Drew.  Eliza- 
beth turned  to  the  piano,  and  began  softly  to  improvise. 

"Oh,  he  started  away  off  alone  like  the  Wanderer — I 
think  he  would  choose  to  be  a  true  knight  first,  before  even 
trying  to  be  a  lover,  though.  He  would  be  very  valiant, 
you  know,  and  would  do  his  fighting  first.  Most  likely  he 's 
wearing  his  lady's  token  on  his  sleeve  now,  only  under  his 
coat,  of  course  —  he  would  not  let  any  one  see  it,  till  he  had 
won."  Then  she  laughed  out  merrily,  and  they  all  three 
laughed  with  the  contagion  of  her  mood.  But  after  she  was 
gone,  Elizabeth  thought  of  the  confidence  with  which  Joy- 
ful had  spoken  of  Nathanael,  and  concluded  she  had  done 
her  an  injustice.  "She  may  be  able  to  appreciate  him, 
after  all,"  she  thought. 

As  the  summer  waned,  Mrs.  Drew  had  failed  perceptibly 
in  health,  and  Elizabeth  had  been  filled  with  anxiety.  Now, 
with  the  early  frosts,  she  had  begun  to  hasten  her  prepara- 
tions for  departure. 

"You  would  better  take  your  mother  and  follow  the  blue- 
birds," said  Dr.  Welch.  "Don't  linger  here  until  the  snow 
flies." 

"The  bluebirds  were  gone  weeks  ago,"  said  Elizabeth, 
looking  up  at  the  eaves,  where  the  nest  lay,  ragged  and 
empty. 

"  Yes,  and  so  ought  you  to  be.  You  may  keep  your  mother 
many  a  year  yet,  if  you'll  do  as  I  tell  you.  Take  her  to  Spain 
or  southern  France.  Anywhere  away  from  the  frosts  and 
winds  of  these  coasts." 


242  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

"Mother  dreads  the  voyage." 

"  Southern  California  will  do  —  anywhere  out  of  the  cold  ; 
but  I  would  advise  an  immediate  move.  Keep  her  where 
there  are  interesting  people." 

For  this  reason  they  left  their  village  home  suddenly,  and 
tvithout  the  usual  delays  of  careful  housewifery.  Grand- 
mother had  always  prepared  their  last  meal  at  the  cottage, 
and  Joyful  bade  them  good-bye,  as  she  had  done  every  fall 
of  her  life,  at  her  grandfather's  gate.  When  the  piano  had 
been  closed,  and  the  last  piece  of  furniture  covered  —  when 
the  house  had  been  swept  and  the  windows  and  doors  all 
shut  and  locked — when  the  last  trunk  had  been  marked 
and  packed  in  Somers'  wagon,  then  would  they  drive  over 
to  Heatherby's  cove  and  dine,  before  taking  the  long  ride 
to  the  train. 

Although  different  in  station,  a  loving  and  courteous  re- 
gard had  always  obtained  between  the  two  families,  simple 
and  self-respecting ;  and  grandmother  Heatherby  always 
had  some  little  gift  with  which  to  speed  her  departing  friend. 
This  time  it  was  a  bottle  of  her  own  blackberry  wine,  care- 
fully packed  away  under  the  carriage  seat. 

A  soft  Indian  summer  haze  lay  over  the  earth  and  sea, 
and  the  small  bay  smiled  peacefully  in  the  sun.  It  was  one 
of  those  sweet,  sleepy  days  of  autumn,  when  the  world 
seems  to  be  dreaming  and  waiting.  Joyful  stood  watching 
the  carriage  until  it  disappeared  from  sight,  and  the  last 
flutter  of  Elizabeth's  handkerchief  had  given  the  silent  fare- 
well, then  she  turned  and  walked  with  her  grandfather  down 
to  the  little  pier. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do,  grandfather?"  she  asked. 
"Isn't  it  too  still  to  sail?" 


PREMONITIONS   FULFILLED  243 

"  'T  is  now,  but  I  'm  looking  for  th'  wind  to  come  up  'fore 
long." 

"  Grandfather,  you  're  not  going  to  do  it,  are  you  ?  Let 
some  one  else  take  it.  Make  Jasper  go  with  you." 

"Can't  do  that,  Joy." 

"Jasper  could  take  it  alone,  as  well  as  you." 

"No,  no,  no.  You  'nd  grandmother  just  be  patient,  'nd 
let  grand-daddy  do  's  he  thinks  best."  He  patted  the  girl's 
cheek,  as  she  stood  looking  up  at  him  with  great  sorrowful 
eyes.  "  Gran'-daddy  does  know  best,  Joy.  For  one  thing, 
Jasper  would  n't  go  f'r  hire.  He  thinks  trains  're  more  dan- 
gerous 'n  boats,"  the  old  man  laughed.  "  He  would  n't  go  as 
far  as  Boston  city  'nd  come  back  on  th'  train,  not  for  money. 
What's  more,  he's  no  hand  at  a  bargain.  He'd  make 
the  mendin'  of  a  rudder  come  to  more  'n  th'  boat's  worth. 
Like 's  not  he  'd  let  'em  charge  's  much  's  a  hundred  dollars, 
for  what  little  repairs  the  boat  needs  —  why,  I  could  do  th' 
work  myself  'f  I  was  as  spry  's  I  used  to  be.  Anyhow,  she  'd 
last  my  life  out,  'f  the'  wan't  a  thing  done  to  her.  All  she 
needs  's  a  leetle  overhaulin',  'nd  a  good  coat  o'  paint." 

Joyful  looked  critically  at  the  sky.  "Do  you  think  this 
weather  will  last,  grandfather?" 

"  Not  likely.  If  the  wind  brisks  up  a  bit  by  three,  I  '11  start. 
It 's  not  such  a  long  run —  sixteen  hours,  'r  thereabout  with 
a  good  breeze,  'nd  the  minute  I  get  to  th'  dock  I  '11  telegraph. 
You  pack  gran'-daddy's  kit  'nd  set  it  out  by  the  side  fence 
at  the  steps,  'nd  I  '11  fetch  it  'long  down.  It 's  better  not  to 
get  Marthy  excited.  She  asked  me  to  get  her  some  cloth 
in  Woodbury  Center.  I  calculate  't  I  '11  get  it  in  Boston ; 
'nd  I  '11  get  you  a  new  winter  cloak,  too,  Joy,  a  stylish  one." 
While  the  old  man  talked,  he  was  busily  packing  away  the 


244  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

few  things  he  would  need  for  the  little  trip,  and  Joyful  sadly 
watched  him. 

"Oh,  grandfather,  if  she  should  have  a  spell — I  can't 
bear  it" 

"You  be  a  brave  girl,  Joy.  There  are  things  sometimes 
that  have  to  be,  'nd  th'  only  thing  to  do  's  to  keep  a  stiff 
upper  lip.  See,  Joy — 'f  you  were  to  lie  to  her  a  leetle  — 
accordin'  to  my  way  of  thinkin' —  not  accordin'  toMarthy's, 
no  doubt, — but  accordin'  to  mine,  'twould  be  no  sin  — 
not  th'  least." 

"Why,  grandfather?" 

"Never  you  mind,  Joy.  Gran'-daddy 's  in  the  right. 
If  she  asks  where  I  be,  say  gran'-daddy  's  gone  to  town  — 
Boston 's  town —  'nd  tell  her  I  said  I  would  n't  be  back 
'fore  ten  anyway,  'nd  that 's  the  truth,  too.  Then  you  get 
her  to  bed  early,  'nd  you  go  to  bed,  too,  unconcerned  — 
that 's  the  way  to  be  gran'-daddy 's  brave  girl —  'nd  she  '11 
sleep  till  morning,  'nd  then  '11  come  the  telegram.  Somers  '11 
be  over  to  Willoughby  Junction,  'nd  he  '11  fetch  it  by  noon. 
Run  along  up  now  'nd  pack  th'  kit.  You  might  put  in  a 
leetle  bottle  of  that  wine  'nd  one  o'  those  pies  I  saw  you 
makin'  yesterday."  He  drew  the  child  to  him,  and  looked 
in  her  eyes  with  a  humorous  twinkle  in  his  own.  "  I  '11  be 
your  —  what  do  you  call  him?  —  your  true  knight,  'nd 
you  c'n  put  in  the  pie  for  a  love  token." 

"  You  always  are  my  true  knight,  grand-daddy  —  always 
—  always,  grand-daddy  dear."  She  threw  her  arms  around 
his  neck,  holding  him  down  to  her  height,  and  clinging 
tightly.  "  I  'm  not  so  much  afraid  of  anything  happening 
to  you,  as  I  am  of  her —  I  mean  about  her,  you  know." 

"You  do  's  I  tell  you  'nd  you'll  get  over  it  better  'n 


PREMONITIONS   FULFILLED  245 

you  think.    That 's  my  brave  girl,"  he  called  after  her  as 
she  slowly  climbed  the  low  bluff. 

Presently  he  followed  her,  and  sat  a  while  on  the  porch, 
meditating  with  his  pipe.  His  wife  came  out  to  him,  and 
asked  if  he  was  going  to  dig  up  the  tulip  bulbs  and  reset 
them,  and  he  made  some  jovial  remark,  and  said  the  tulips 
would  have  to  set  where  they  were  a  spell  longer.  The  wind 
had  not  risen,  and  he  decided  if  there  was  no  breeze  within 
an  hour  he  would  not  leave  that  night. 

"I'm  goin'  over  to  Jasper's,  Marthy,"  he  said  at  last. 
"Have  you  got  a  loaf  of  bread  for  him?" 

"  I  guess  you  '11  find  one  in  the  cupboard.  You  might  take 
him  a  few  fried  cakes,  too;  they  're  in  the  jar.  I  don't  see 
what  he  does  act  the  fool  for,  stayin'  out  there  all  by  him- 
self. He  'd  better  move  into  town,  'nd  marry  Susan  Clara, 
'nd  act  like  folks." 

The  old  man  went  in  and  returned  with  food  in  a  basket 
Then  he  kissed  his  wife  with  a  hearty  smack.  As  he  swung 
down  the  path,  he  glanced  toward  the  sea,  and  saw  the  tree- 
tops  beginning  to  sway  on  the  distant  edge  of  the  wood.  "  I 
sha  n't  be  back  till  late,  Marthy,"  he  called.  "  Better  not 
sit  up  for  me." 

"I  wish  you  'd  get  more  of  that  gray  yarn  for  your  socks. 
I  guess  I  'd  better  knit  Jasper  a  pair.  He  needs  some  doin' 
for  'f  he  does  act  the  fool." 

Joyful  came  in  from  the  summer  kitchen.  She  had  carried 
her  grandfather's  kit  to  the  stile  where  the  path  led  to  the 
pier,  and  now  she  came  out  and  sat  on  the  porch  with  her 
grandmother,  bringing  her  sewing  with  her.  She  felt  guilty 
and  heavy  hearted.  She  too  looked  at  the  line  of  trees  near 
the  sea,  and  took  note  of  their  stirring  tops  in  the  gathering 


246  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

breeze ;  then  she  glanced  furtively  at  the  old  lady,  who  sat 
contentedly  swaying  back  and  forth  in  the  rocker,  while 
she  knitted  diligently  on  a  gray  woolen  sock. 

"It  seems  queer  to  be  sewing  on  winter  dresses,  and  knit- 
ting wool  socks,  when  it 's  so  warm  and  sweet  out  of  doors, 
does  n't  it?"  said  Joyful. 

"It's  always  best  to  be  forehanded.  When  winter  does 
set  in  after  these  warm  falls,  it  generally  comes  sudden  and 
sharp.  Better  go  in  'nd  try  on  your  dress  before  you  set 
those  hooks  and  eyes.  I  want  to  see  how  it  fits." 

Then  Joyful  tried  on  the  dress,  and  her  grandmother 
pinned  it  around  her  supple,  girlish  form,  and  smoothed  and 
patted  it  down  with  loving  touch,  and  turned  her  about 
and  about,  and  made  her  walk  off  so  she  could  see  the  "hang 
of  the  skirt." 

"It's  got  to  clear  the  ground  well,  if  you  be  in  long 
dresses,"  she  said,  eyeing  her  critically  over  the  top  of  her 
glasses.  "  Seems  to  sag  a  leetle  't  one  side, — No,  I  guess  it 's 
all  right,  'nd  I  rmlst  say —  I  think  it 's  real  becomin'  to  you, 
Joy.  You  do  look  well  in  it.  If  't  wan't  that  '  Praise  to  the 
face 's  open  disgrace,'  I  sh'd  say  you  look  more  'n  well  in  it. 
Now  you  take  it  off  'nd  finish  it  up  this  afternoon.  The 
time 's  passm'." 

"I  don't  feel  a  bit  like  sewing,"  said  Joyful,  wearily. 
"  Can't  I  begin  the  quince  jelly  ?  I  feel  more  like  working 
around  than  sitting  still." 

"You  should  n't  take  'Lizbeth's  going  so  to  heart.  She  '11 
be  back  in  spring,  'nd  meantime  there  's  plenty  to  do  if  you 
help  grandmother  good.  You  look  's  mopin',  'nd  droopin'  's 
a  moltin'  hen.  It  won't  do  to  start  the  jelly  this  evenin', 
but  you  might  get  them  over  to  stew,  'nd  we  '11  let  it  dreen 


PREMONITIONS  FULFILLED  247 

over-night.  I  always  like  to  start  jell  on  a  good  clear  morn- 
ing. I  guess  I  '11  finish  the  dress  myself.  I  feel  like  sittin' 
still,  after  bein'  on  my  feet  all  forenoon." 

So  Joyful  went  out  and  rebuilt  the  fire,  and  pared  the 
quinces  and  apples,  and  set  the  parings  to  stew.  She  pre- 
ferred working  thus,  where  her  grandmother  could  not  take 
note  of  her  anxious  face ;  while  the  old  lady  sat  in  the  inner 
room,  and  put  the  finishing  touches  to  the  warm,  dark  dress. 

"  Girls  always  do  hate  finishing  things,  but  't  won't  be 
three  weeks  before  she  '11  be  glad  enough  it 's  done  and  ready/' 
she  said  to  herself,  as  she  worked.  Sometimes  they  chatted 
together,  calling  to  each  other  from  the  different  rooms. 

"What  were  you  saying  about  Jasper,  grandmother? 
He  'd  better  marry  Susan  who  ? " 

"Susan  Clara  Tufts.  You  know  that  old  maid  't  lives  in 
the  little  house  'nd  garden  beyond  the  Stoddards'  place  ?" 

"Why  should  he  marry  her  ?  " 

"Oh,  it's  an  old  story — must  'a  been  ten  years  ago. 
Come  to  think,  you  would  n't  remember  anything  about  it." 

"But  tell  me.    Tell  about  it,  grandmother." 

"It 's  just  a  specimen  of  people's  foolishness  'nd  pride. 
Jasper  was  a  good  smart  man.  He  was  an  excellent  good 
man.  Must  have  been  twenty  years  ago  he  began  sailing 
with  your  grandfather.  I  know  it  wan't  long  after  that  he 
got  engaged  to  Susan  Clara.  She  was  good  lookin'  'nd 
smart,  too,  but  she  was  proud.  She  was  n't  willing  he  sh'd 
fish  with  your  grandfather  for  a  livin'.  No,  he  must  sell 
his  place  there  on  the  point,  'nd  come  in  town  'nd  keep  a 
store,  'nd  they  both  live  in  the  old  place  with  her  mother, 
where  she  lives  now." 

"  Well,  why  did  n't  he,  if  he  cared  for  her  ?  " 


248  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

"Her  mother  was  one  of  the  queer  sort.  Some  people 
seem  to  live  on  and  on,  and  never  do  a  thing  on  earth  but 
keep  their  own  folks  in  hot  water,  'nd  set  the  whole  town 
by  the  ears,  'nd  she  was  one  of  that  kind.  I  could  n't  blame 
Jasper  for  not  bein'  willin'  to  have  her  forever  settin'  guard 
in  his  home  betwixt  him  and  his  wife.  So  the  weddin'  was 
put  off  from  year  to  year,  and  the  old  woman,  she  lived  on, 
and  Jasper  kept  on  callin'.  Once  hi  the  middle  of  each  week, 
and  every  Sunday,  's  regular  as  the  week  came  round,  when 
he  wasn't  sailin',  he  called,  for  ten  years.  All  that  time 
Susan  Clara  was  growing  older,  'nd  losing  a  trifle  of  her 
good  looks,  'nd  her  mother  was  growing  peskier,  and  Jasper, 
he  was  gettin'  a  leetle  sour.  I  saw  it  growin'  on  him.  He  'd 
say  cuttin'  sort  of  things  about  women  in  general,  'nd  go 
around  with  a  kind  of  a  cross-cut-saw  look  on  his  face  't 
wan't  good  to  see. 

"Well,  then,  old  Mrs.  Tufts  died  'nd  was  laid  away  where 
she  could  n't  do  any  more  harm,  'nd  I  said  then  to  Jasper, 
'  You  go  now,  'nd  marry  her  up  quick 's  you  can  before  any- 
thing else  comes  up.'  I  think  he  did  try  to  set  the  day  — 
but  I  don't  know  how  it  was  —  whether  he  said  some  bitter, 
cuttin'  thing,  's  he  could,  or  whether  't  was  about  where  they 
sh'd  live,  or  about  money,  or  what  —  it  seems  they  quarreled 
hard.  Susan  Clara  told  him  he  need  n't  call  again  till  she 
asked  him  to,  'nd  he  said  it  would  be  a  good  long  time  before 
he  gave  her  the  chance  to  ask  him,  'nd  he  went  out  there  on 
the  point,  'nd  there  he  sets  to  this  day,  like  a  bump  on  a  log. 
He  would  n't  take  that  walk  in  to  Woodbury  Center  to  save 
the  dying.  He  thinks  he 's  a  woman  hater  'nd  a  hermit. 
If  he  wants  for  anything  he  takes  his  rowboat  'nd  goes  to 
one  of  the  'longshore  villages." 


PREMONITIONS   FULFILLED  249 

"I  should  n't  think  it  would  be  very  pleasant  to  live  that 
way  —  feeling  angry  all  the  time.  Why  don't  they  make 
up?" 

"  It 's  all  pride  'nd  foolishness.  They  're  growing  old  with 
no  comfort  in  life.  Self-respect's  one  thing — every  man 
ought  to  have  enough  of  that  to  hold  his  head  up  —  but 
pride  is  a  luxury  't  won't  do  to  indulge  in  too  much.  It 's 
like  red  pepper  in  cookin',  pride  is.  You  don't  want  mor  'n  a 
dash  of  it,  enough  to  give  a  tang ;  but  for  a  regular  ingredient 
in  daily  life,  there 's  nothing  like  the  salt  of  straight,  good 
common  sense.  You  better  make  the  tea  now,  Joy,  'nd 
set  out  one  of  those  pies.  I  feel 's  if  I  'd  like  a  piece  for 
supper." 

Joyful  stood  in  the  pantry,  her  heart  beating  rapidly. 
She  had  put  the  pies  in  her  grandfather's  kit.  "There 
are  n't  any  pies  here,"  she  said  at  last,  swallowing  hard. 

"Well,  I  declare  !  If  that  is  n't  just  like  father  !  Look 
in  the  jar  'nd  see  if  he 's  taken  the  fried  cakes." 

"Yes — they're  gone,  too." 

The  old  lady  laughed  good  humoredly.  "No  wonder 
Jasper  sticks  to  his  point.  He  fares  better  with  father  to 
look  after  him  'n  's  if  he  had  married  Susan  Clara."  She 
came  out  and  began  to  make  up  some  biscuits.  "He  must 
have  thought  he  would  eat  supper  there.  Like 's  not  that 
was  it.  What  does  ail  you,  child  ?  You  look 's  white  as 
a  sheet." 

But  Joyful  pretended  not  to  hear.  She  went  out  in  the 
yard,  and  scattered  grain  to  the  chickens.  When  she  came 
in,  she  was  no  longer  pale.  She  had  seen  that  the  kit  was 
gone,  and  she  must  be  brave. 

Her  grandmother  made  the  task  easy  for  her.    She  thought 


JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

Joyful  was  looking  forward  to  the  long,  lonely  winter  with- 
out Elizabeth,  and  essayed  to  cheer  her.  "We  '11  have 
supper  now,"  she  said,  "good  biscuits  and  honey  —  I  guess 
we  '11  fare 's  well 's  they  will,  if  they  do  have  all  the  pies. 
Then  you  must  get  to  bed,  Joy.  To-day 's  been  wearin'  with 
company  to  dinner  'nd  all." 

"I  '11  go  to  bed  early,  if  you  will.  You  must  be  as  tired 
as  I.  You  've  done  all  the  work,  nearly." 

"We  need  n't  either  of  us  sit  up  for  father.  We  '11  just 
leave  the  door  on  the  latch,  'nd  a  light  in  the  hall  'nd  he  can 
come  in  when  he 's  a  mind  to,  without  wakin'  us." 

After  supper  Joyful  went  out  and  gazed  up  into  the  sky. 
The  stars  were  thick  overhead,  but  a  dull  gray  fog  seemed 
to  be  trailing  in  from  the  sea,  hiding  the  bluff  and  the  wood. 
Was  it  fog,  or  only  the  early  darkness  folding  over  the  earth 
like  a  mantle  ?  If  the  wind  did  n't  blow  more  than  this, 
he  would  n't  be  able  to  get  anywhere.  She  longed  to  go 
down  to  the  little  pier  and  see  if  it  was  really  fog,  or  if  there 
were  any  more  breeze  on  the  sea,  but  she  was  afraid  her 
grandmother  would  follow  her,  and  learn  that  the  boat  was 
gone,  so  she  came  in  and  crept  silently  to  bed.  She  knew  this 
was  best,  and  there  she  lay  with  anxiously  beating  heart, 
listening  to  her  grandmother's  steps  about  the  house.  At 
last  she  heard  her  go  to  her  room.  Then  Joyful  rose 
and  watched  the  light  streaming  from  her  grandmother's 
window  in  a  long  path  out  into  the  darkness.  It  made  a 
great  white  blur  there  as  if  it  were  shining  in  mist.  Joyful 
was  sure  it  was  fog.  She  was  glad  when  the  light  went 
out,  and  she  softly  stole  back  to  her  bed,  but  not  to  sleep  for 
a  long  weary  while.  It  must  be  fog.  Oh,  if  the  wind  would 
only  rise  and  blow  hard  enough  to  drive  it  away  !  At  last 


PREMONITIONS   FULFILLED  251 

she  heard  a  soughing  and  moving  of  the  branches  of  the 
silver-leaf  poplar  overhead  outside  her  window.  It  was  the 
wind  at  last.  It  would  blow  the  fog  away.  And  she  slept. 
Soundly  and  sweetly  she  slept  the  happy,  peaceful  sleep 
of  youth,  lulled  by  the  sound  of  wind  that  would  be  wings 
to  her  grandfather's  boat.  Nevertheless  the  fog  thickened 
and  the  night  grew  black.  Soundly  and  sweetly  she  slept, 
undisturbed  by  the  sudden  opening  of  doors  —  undisturbed 
by  the  swift  rush  of  a  figure  past  her  room  and  down  the 
stairs,  and  out  into  the  thick  darkness  of  the  night.  She 
did  not  hear  the  cry  from  the  sea  —  what  was  it?  The 
scream  of  a  bird,  or  the  call  of  a  woman  ?  "Father,  Father, 
wait  for  me."  Surely  it  was  a  woman's  cry  that  fled  through 
the  darkness  and  was  gone,  answering  some  other  cry 
calling  her  soul  through  space,  unheard  by  any  other  living 
ears,  —  surely  it  was  a  woman's  cry,  reaching  out  through 
miles  of  sea  space  crying  to  the  soul  of  one  who  had  called 
to  her.  Far  away,  far,  far  away  to  seaward,  a  great  ship 
struck  a  small  one  in  the  fog,  and  in  a  moment  the  small 
one  was  gone  with  no  sound,  only  a  sharp  and  terrible  cry 
that  rang  out  through  the  mist  and  blackness,  "Marthy !" 


CHAPTER  XVI 

ENSNARED 

Adrift !    Adrift  in  the  drifting  mist ! 

Adrift  on  the  open  sea. 
With  never  a  rudder,  and  never  a  sail, 

Where  rudder  and  sail  should  be. 
Nay,  what  avail  are  rudder  and  sail 

Where  wind  nor  tide  may  be  ? 
An  unseen  hand  must  guide  to  land, 

Or  the  ship  is  lost  at  sea. 

IT  was  a  raw,  chilly  day  in  the  early  part  of  December. 
The  rain  was  driven  in  sharp,  sleety  gusts  against  the  car 
windows,  and  as  the  train  thundered  into  the  vaultlike 
station,  the  smoke  rose  to  the  roof  in  heavy  masses  and  then 
settled  back  on  the  passengers  as  they  streamed  out  on  the 
platform  and  hurried  away  in  one  direction.  Men  turned 
up  their  coat  collars  and  walked  rapidly,  as  if  being  drawn 
by  some  loadstone  of  purpose.  Women  drew  their  garments 
about  them  and  pressed  on  with  forward-looking  eyes,  as 
if  they,  too,  were  being  drawn  by  that  same  intangible 
loadstone  rapidly  to  some  definite  point.  They  walked 
singly,  or  in  groups,  but  with  no  word  for  each  other,  no 
side  glances  nor  idle  saunterings  and  chatter. 

Only  a  constant  and  confused  murmur  pervaded  the 
place  and  rose  from  that  pouring  mass  of  humanity — out- 
pouring like  a  stream  hurrying  to  its  doom  in  the  all-engulfing 
ocean  —  when  they  came  to  an  obstacle,  never  stopping, 

252 


ENSNARED  253 

but  swerving  around  it  like  waves  about  a  stone,  then 
closing  together  again  inevitably,  and  rushing  on. 

Borne  among  them,  and  carried  along  by  them,  and 
swayed  to  and  fro  with  them,  but  never  a  part  of  them,  was 
one  small  figure  whose  eyes  looked  wistfully  out  from  under 
the  hood  of  a  long  cloak;  such  a  cloak  as  might  have 
belonged  to  some  respectable  old  lady  whose  clothing  had 
been  kept  carefully  and  neatly  many  years.  It  enveloped 
the  straight,  lithe  form  of  the  girl,  and  wrapped  about  her 
voluminously  down  to  the  hem  of  her  dress,  quite  conceal- 
ing the  willow  basket  which  sagged  heavily  from  her 
slender  arm,  and  bulged  the  great  cloak  cumbrously  on 
one  side. 

The  little  being  gave  no  heed  to  other  luggage  than  this, 
but  broke  away  from  the  stream  pouring  toward  the  baggage 
room,  and  joined  the  smaller  and  swifter  current  that 
formed  an  estuary  at  the  emptying  of  that  great  human 
river. 

Once  outside,  the  wind  tore  at  her  cloak,  and  flung  it 
about,  and  she  paused  to  gather  it  together  closely.  All 
around,  men  screamed  and  called  out  to  her,  and  beckoned 
with  their  whips.  She  guessed  that  they  wished  her  to 
ride  in  their  carriages,  but  taking  up  her  basket  again,  she 
trudged  on  bravely  into  the  great  world,  climbing  the  high 
street,  and  crossing  over  the  rough  paving  with  the  small 
stream  she  had  joined  at  the  estuary.  Swiftly  they  passed 
away,  unnoticing,  and  dispersed,  she  knew  not  whither, 
until  she  was  left  alone  in  the  midst  of  a  long,  bare  block, 
still  walking  valiantly  on  in  the  face  of  the  driving  sleet. 

She  looked  up  at  the  unending  buildings,  whose  tops  in 
diminishing  perspective  closed  the  narrow  strip  of  gray, 


254  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

sodden  sky  over  her  head,  and  she  gazed  down  the  slippery 
street  at  another  perspective,  longer  and  more  unending 
than  the  height  of  it,  while  behind  her  she  heard  the  rushing 
and  roaring  in  the  station  she  had  just  left,  of  the  outgoing 
and  incoming  trains. 

The  sound  made  her  think  of  the  roar  of  the  sea  —  the 
great  waves  rising  and  tossing,  and  falling  impotently  back, 
thundering  their  rage.  "I  suppose  the  noise  keeps  on  like 
this  all  the  time,  and  the  calm  never  comes,"  she  said. 

Sometimes  people  came  out  from  the  great  buildings  and 
hurried  past  her.  She  wondered  where  they  went.  She 
felt  hungry,  and  looked  for  a  clean,  dry  place  where  she 
might  sit  quietly  and  eat  her  lunch.  She  looked  back  at 
the  black  hole  —  the  opening  of  the  station  she  had  just 
left,  and  imagined  she  might  see  carved  in  the  stone,  over  the 
entrance,  the  words,  "All  hope  abandon,  ye  who  enter 
here."  "Only  the  words  ought  really  to  be  on  the  other 
side  of  that  great  noisy  place.  It  would  n't  be  abandoning 
all  hope  to  go  away  again,"  she  thought.  She  felt  her  cloak 
striking  heavily  and  wet  against  her  feet.  "  If  grandmother 
could  see,  she  would  n't  like  it  a  bit  for  me  to  get  it  so 
draggled  and  wet." 

She  passed  immense  dark  warehouses,  and  strange  odors 
came  out  to  her.  Now  she  thought  she  smelled  new  shoes, 
and  saw  through  the  windows  heaps  upon  heaps  of  leather 
skins  piled,  and  still  beyond  her  the  street  stretched,  and 
many  narrower  and  more  crooked  ones  strayed  off  here 
and  there.  Should  she  take  one  of  these?  Perhaps  they 
might  lead  to  somewhere. 

Pedestrians  were  few,  but  heavily  loaded  trucks  rumbled 
through  the  streets  continually,  and  cars  loaded  with 


ENSNARED  255 

passengers  jangled  by.  She  never  thought  of  taking  one  of 
these.  Then  she  came  to  the  stores  with  their  plate-glass 
fronts.  The  goods  displayed  showed  dimly  through  the 
steam  within  and  the  rain  and  sleet  without.  Here  were 
more  people  and  carriages,  and  she  began  to  feel  herself 
overcome  with  weariness  and  the  confusion  about  her. 
Everything  seemed  so  loud,  and  people  rushed  and  hurried 
so,  but  no  doubt  they  wished  to  get  in  out  of  the  rain. 
Little  boys  screamed  at  her  and  held  out  papers  toward  her, 
but  she  pressed  on  and  passed  them  by  as  she  saw  others 
do.  At  last  she  began  to  reason  with  herself.  She  must 
get  somewhere.  She  could  n't  walk  on  like  this  forever. 

Somers  had  given  her  many  directions  as  he  drove  her 
over  to  Willoughby  Junction  in  the  early  morning,  having 
as  much  knowledge  of  the  city  and  its  ways  as  a  cow  might 
have.  She  must  n't  be  afraid  to  ask  people  where  she 
should  go,  and  she  must  look  out  about  trusting  people  too 
much,  too.  She  must  n't  believe  everything  they  told  her, 
they  might  want  to  cheat  her  in  some  way,  but  she  must 
look  out  not  to  get  lost,  and  she  must  ask  her  way  around. 

So  she  proceeded  to  look  earnestly  into  each  face  that 
passed  her  for  some  one  to  ask,  but  every  one  seemed  pre- 
occupied, and  walked  with  head  lowered  a*gainst  the 
storm.  No  one  seemed  care  free,  only  two  girls  who  walked 
huddled  together  under  one  umbrella  eating  candy  out  of 
a  paper  bag.  They  jostled  against  her,  but  did  not  seem 
to  see  her. 

At  last  a  man  came  toward  her  swinging  a  tin  dinner  pail. 
He  walked  more  slowly  and  did  not  appear  to  be  minding 
the  storm,  and  his  face  looked  kindly,  like  her  grandfather's. 
She  spoke  to  him,  but  so  low  he  could  not  hear  her  voice 


256  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

above  the  street  noises,  yet,  because  she  stood  still  and  looked 
up  in  his  face,  he  stopped  and  looked  down  at  her. 

"What  is 't?"  he  asked. 

She  repeated  her  question  louder.  "Can  you  tell  me 
where  to  go?" 

"I  can,  if  you'll  tell  me  where  you  want  to  go."  They 
drew  nearer  the  store  window,  for  they  were  jostled  where 
they  stood. 

"I  want  to  go  to  some  place  where  I  can  find  work  to  do, 
or  to  teach,  to  earn  my  living." 

"Oh,  you  want  to  get  a  place.  Well,  where  are  you 
staying  ?  " 

"Not  anywhere  yet.    I've  only  just  come." 

"Well,  if  you  want  to  get  work,  and  want  to  get  it  right 
away,  you  go  over  to  that  place,"  he  pointed  to  a  little 
building  set  in  between  two  high  ones.  "That's  an  intelli- 
gence office.  They  '11  tell  you  where  to  go." 

She  looked  across  the  street  in  a  bewildered  way.  It  was 
not  very  wide,  but  the  confusion  of  traffic  and  passing  of 
vehicles  made  it  seem  to  her  well-nigh  impassable.  Yet 
others  were  going  across;  she  could  do  what  they  did  — 
and  anyway  she  must  be  brave.  So  she  lifted  her  head 
and  said,  "Thank  you,"  almost  as  if  she  knew  her  own 
business,  and  the  man  walked  on. 

A  moment  she  stood  poised  on  the  curbing,  watching  the 
great  draft  horses'  feet  slip  about  on  the  icy  paving,  and  in 
that  moment  a  carriage  passed,  and  a  woman  with  a  large 
pallid  face  and  small  keen  eyes  looked  out  at  her  through 
the  window,  apprehending  in  one  swift  glance  every  detail. 

Joyful  felt  the  gaze,  and  wondered  why  the  woman  should 
regard  her  so.  Was  she  not  clean  and  neat  and  doing  what 


ENSNARED  257 

she  ought?  She  held  herself  erect  in  her  self-respecting 
pride,  and  ventured  forward.  Others  were  suddenly  pass- 
ing across,  and  a  huge,  blue-coated  policeman  was  holding 
the  vehicles  back  for  them.  She  glanced  up  in  his  face 
with  gratitude,  and  he  saw  the  glance  and  smiled.  The 
place  she  entered  seemed  like  a  country  shop  that  had  been 
belated  and  hopelessly  entangled  among  the  great  buildings 
around  it.  The  counter  was  covered  with  a  strange  assort- 
ment of  clothing,  and  in  glass  cases  against  the  wall  were 
hung  all  sorts  of  half-worn  garments  with  tags  on  them. 

A  woman  was  making  change  for  a  man  who  waited  at 
the  desk.  She  looked  over  the  top  of  her  glasses  at  Joyful. 
"Looking  for  a  place?"  she  asked.  "Go  right  through  in 
there  'nd  sit  down.  I  '11  'tend  to  you  in  a  minute,"  and 
Joyful  passed  on  into  an  apartment  curtained  off  from  the 
rest  of  the  store.  Several  girls  and  one  or  two  women  were 
seated  around  the  walls,  some  neat  and  smart  looking,  and 
others  slatternly  and  listless. 

She  took  the  only  chair  left  vacant,  and  looked  about 
her.  The  room  was  close  and  dark,  but  for  a  single  electric 
bulb  hanging  from  the  ceiling.  She  put  her  basket  down 
and  undid  the  fastening  of  her  cloak.  She  felt  faint  and 
weary,  and  leaned  her  head  back  and  waited  with  closed 
eyes,  and  hands  clasped  in  her  lap.  The  noises  of  the  street 
came  to  her  in  a  confused  roar,  and  she  wondered  if  they 
ever  ceased.  Presently  she  became  aware  that  some  one 
was  addressing  her,  and  opened  her  eyes  and  looked  into 
the  face  she  had  seen  through  the  carriage  window. 

"Feeling  faint?"  The  voice  was  low  and  quiet,  and 
sounded  almost  indifferent,  but  the  eyes  were  bright  and 
keen. 


258  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

"Yes." 

"Looking  for  a  place?" 

"Yes." 

"Where  did  you  come  from?  What  kind  of  a  place  do 
you  want?" 

The  woman  with  the  glasses  came  in  and  began  speaking 
to  one  of  the  others.  She  turned  to  the  questioner.  "We 
don't  know  anything  about  her;  she 's  just  come  in."  She 
took  a  pencil  from  her  hair  and  began  writing  on  a  card 
which  she  handed  to  one  of  the  girls.  "The  name  of  the 
place  is  on  that  card.  You  can  bring  the  dollar  in  a  week," 
she  said.  "What  did  you  say  your  name  is?"  she  turned 
from  one  to  another  in  a  curt  way. 

"My  name  is  Joyful  Heatherby." 

The  pallid  woman  took  the  chair  just  vacated,  and  drew 
it  nearer  Joyful.  "I  will  question  her  while  you  look  after 
the  rest,  if  you  are  hurried,"  she  said  quietly. 

Then  Joyful  straightened  herself  and  sat  very  rigid, 
trying  to  keep  her  lip  from  quivering  while  she  answered 
all  the  questions  carefully  and  conscientiously. 

The  woman  did  not  smile  nor  show  the  least  surprise  in 
her  impassive  countenance  when  Joyful  told  her  she  had 
come  to  Boston  to  get  a  place  in  a  young  ladies'  school  to 
teach  French.  She  did  not  ask  her  credentials  nor  refer- 
ences, nor  did  she  tell  her  this  was  not  the  place  to  go  to 
look  for  such  a  position.  She  put  her  questions  very  quietly, 
and  the  shop  woman  was  too  busy  to  heed  the  low,  broken 
replies  as  Joyful  told  of  her  home,  and  the  loss  of  all  but  a 
few  scattered  friends;  for  she  had  not  yet  heard  from 
Elizabeth  when  she  left  the  lonely  little  cottage. 

"Well,  I  keep  a  young  ladies'  school;   I  guess  you  '11  do 


ENSNARED  259 

for  the  place."  And  Joyful's  heart  bounded  at  her  quick 
success.  It  was  past  the  noon  hour,  and  she  had  breakfasted 
long  before  daylight,  and  had  not  known  where  to  go  for 
food  or  lodging,  but  she  had  thought  she  might  ask  the 
woman  who  kept  the  shop.  She  had  a  little  money  in  the 
bosom  of  her  dress,  which  she  thought  would  keep  her  for 
a  time  until  she  could  find  work.  Now  she  rose  gladly  to 
follow  the  woman  out. 

Then  the  shop  woman  addressed  her.  "You  can  pay  the 
dollar  next  week,"  she  said.  "It's  for  getting  you  the 
place,"  she  explained,  noting  Joyful's  look  of  surprise. 

"Oh,  is  it  a  dollar?    I  can  pay  it  now." 

"Better  wait  until  you  see  how  you  like  the  place." 

"She  '11  be  sure  to  like  it,"  said  the  other  woman,  handing 
out  her  own  fee.  "You  take  orders  for  cleaning  and  dyeing  ? 
I  '11  send  down  some  things,  and  I  '11  see  that  her  dollar  is 
paid,  myself."  She  gave  the  shop  woman  a  card,  and  they 
passed  out,  leaving  her  scrutinizing  it  keenly  through  her 
glasses. 

"Who  's  Madame  Redding  La  Grande  ?"  she  asked  of  her 
assistant,  who  was  busy  doing  up  the  dyed  garments  in 
packages,  and  marking  them. 

"I  don't  know.  You  'd  better  keep  the  card.  You  may 
want  it." 

In  the  carriage  Madame  Redding  La  Grande  occupied  the 
whole  of  the  back  seat,  and  placed  Joyful  on  a  low  seat 
facing  her,  with  her  basket  at  her  side,  and  they  drove  away 
in  silence.  The  windows  of  the  vehicle  were  tightly  closed, 
and  the  air  was  heavy  and  fetid.  A  wild  desire  seized 
Joyful  to  jump  out  and  escape,  or  to  strike  at  the  woman 
before  her  and  scream  out  like  a  child.  She  did  not  like  the 


260  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

narrow,  watchful  look  that  was  fixed  on  her  face  through  half- 
closed  lids,  and  at  length  she  became  unable  to  look  at  the 
woman's  countenance  with  its  immovable  lines,  so  she  closed 
her  eyes,  and  clasped  her  hands  tightly  beneath  her  cloak 
to  keep  them  from  trembling.  It  seemed  only  a  moment 
after  that  she  was  revived  by  a  draft  of  cool,  damp  air 
across  her  face,  and  she  roused  herself  wonderingly  to  see 
the  woman  outside  the  coach,  holding  the  door  open  and 
speaking  to  her. 

"You  seem  pretty  tired,"  the  woman  was  saying,  "and 
no  doubt  you  've  had  no  lunch.  You  can  go  right  to  your 
room,  and  I  '11  send  you  up  some  tea." 

The  tone  was  cool  and  monotonous,  but  the  words  were 
kind,  and  Joyful  tried  to  feel  that  she  liked  her,  as  she 
followed  her  up  stone  steps  into  a  house  that  seemed  to  her 
grand  enough  to  be  a  palace —  where  the  ceilings  were  very 
high,  and  mirrors  reached  from  the  floor  to  the  cornice  — 
where  the  carpets  were  soft  and  thick,  and  velvet  curtains 
hung  in  the  doorways. 

The  grandeur  and  richness  of  it  all  filled  her  imagination, 
and  overpowered  her.  She  staggered  as  she  stood  in  the 
great  hall  and  gazed  into  the  rooms  opening  from  it,  but 
Madame  La  Grande  did  not  see  this.  She  went  steadily  on 
up  the  stairs.  "Come,"  she  said,  without  pausing  or  look- 
ing back,  and  Joyful  gathered  all  her  strength,  and  followed. 
Up  one  flight  of  stairs,  and  then  another  and  narrower 
flight,  and  along  a  hall  to  a  small  room  at  the  far  end,  she 
crept.  Why  her  heart  sank  within  her  at  every  step,  she 
could  not  tell.  Surely  this  was  splendor  beyond  her 
wildest  imaginings. 

"There.    This   will   be  your  room   for   a   while,   until 


ENSNARED  261 

you  're  used  to  your  duties  and  the  ways  of  the  house.  You 
would  better  change  your  clothes,  and  clean  up  a  little,  and 
rest.  I  '11  send  you  something  to  eat,  and  then  we  '11  have  a 
talk  later.  Is  this  all  you  have,  just  this  basket?" 

"I  have  a  trunk,  a  small  one;  but  I  left  it  at  the  station. 
They  gave  me  this  when  I  started,  and  told  me  to  send  for 
it  when  I  knew  where  I  was  to  be."  She  held  out  the 
brass  check. 

"That 's  right.  Give  it  to  me,  and  I  '11  have  the  trunk 
sent  to  your  room  as  soon  as  it  comes." 

"It  won't  come  until  they  get  that.     Mr.  Somers  said  so." 

The  woman  did  not  smile  at  Joyful's  simplicity.  She 
went  away,  taking  the  check  with  her.  "Very  well,  I '11 
see  to  it,"  she  said. 

For  a  moment,  Joyful  stood  still  in  the  middle  of  the 
room,  thinking  in  a  dazed  way.  How  had  it  all  come 
about,  just  as  she  wished,  and  so  quickly !  She  wondered 
where  the  young  ladies  were  whom  she  was  going  to  teach. 
She  had  seen  none.  Then  she  spread  the  great  cloak  on 
a  chair  to  dry,  and  unpacked  the  basket.  Besides  a  change 
of  underclothing  and  other  necessaries,  it  contained  one 
gingham  dress,  a  few  collars  and  ribbons,  and  a  few  French 
books.  These  last  she  arranged  on  a  table  with  her  prayer 
book  and  hymnal  and  Bible.  Then  she  removed  her  damp 
clothing,  but  before  she  had  redressed  herself  Madame 
La  Grande  returned  with  a  stupid-looking  maid  bearing 
tea  and  bread  and  butter. 

She  had  knocked  and  then  entered  without  waiting  for 
a  response,  and  Joyful  shrank  back  dismayed  and  abashed 
at  her  uncovered  condition,  but  this  the  woman  did  not 
seem  to  notice.  She  dismissed  the  maid  and  placed  the 


262  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

tray  herself  on  Joyful's  little  table,  shoving  the  books  to  one 
side  to  make  room  for  it.  She  laid  out  some  dry  stockings 
and  underwear.  "I  thought  maybe  you  didn't  have  dry 
things  with  you,"  she  said. 

Joyful  cowered  behind  the  skirts  she  had  not  had  time  to 
don.  "Thank  you,  yes,  I  have  them,  but  —  you  are  very 
kind."  She  wished  the  woman  would  go  away,  and 
stood  shivering  and  waiting. 

"You  would  better  put  on  your  clothes,  before  you  take 
cold,"  said  the  woman,  eying  her  critically.  She  seated 
herself  beside  the  table  and  poured  out  the  tea.  "You 
have  a  rarely  good  figure,  but  you  're  far  too  pale.  Don't 
you  ever  have  any  more  color?" 

Joyful  saw  that  she  had  no  intention  of  taking  her 
departure,  so  she  scrambled  into  her  clothing  as  rapidly  as 
possible,  and  sat  down  in  confusion  and  shame.  Madame 
La  Grande  poured  two  cups  of  tea,  and  put  a  little  liquor 
in  each  from  a  small  flask  which  she  took  from  a  cupboard 
in  the  wall. 

"I  '11  leave  this  here,  so  you  can  have  it  when  you  need  it. 
It 's  good  to  keep  you  from  taking  cold,  and  —  for  a  good 
many  other  things.  If  you  should  get  homesick  or  blue, 
it  will  set  you  up  and  make  you  feel  all  right.  Well,  you 
have  color  enough  now.  I  guess  you  '11  not  be  too  pale,  as 
a  general  thing.  Now  drink  this  and  eat  a  little.  You 
need  n't  look  so  frightened.  You  '11  find  it  very  nice  here, 
and  the  girls  are  all  kind-hearted." 

Joyful  took  the  cup  from  her  hand  and  tasted  it,  and 
forced  herself  to  swallow  a  few  mouthfuls  of  food,  but  she 
could  not  speak.  She  tried  to  say  something,  but  her 
throat  closed  spasmodically,  and  she  remained  silent. 


ENSNARED  263 

"When  your  trunk  comes,  you  would  better  put  on  some- 
thing a  little  more  dressy  to  come  down  to  dinner  in.  The 
house  is  warmed  by  steam,  so  you  won't  be  cold,  if  you  wear 
something  thin.  The  girls  dress  a  good  deal  at  dinner, 
and  you  '11  want  to  be  one  of  them,  you  know." 

"I 'm  afraid  I  haven't  much  to  wear  that  you  will  like. 
I  have  never  lived  in  a  place  like  this  before." 

"Oh,  well  —  you  '11  soon  fall  into  the  ways  here,  and  you 
can  get  other  things  as  you  need  them." 

"When  will  the  lessons  begin?"  asked  Joyful,  timidly. 
She  wanted  to  ask  how  much  she  was  to  receive  for  them, 
but  her  throat  closed  on  the  question  unuttered. 

"Oh,  any  time  the  girls  like.  Would  n't  you  better  drink 
up  the  rest  of  your  tea?"  Then  Joyful  drank  her  tea,  and 
presently  she  felt  the  exhilaration  of  it,  and  her  cheeks 
brightened.  "Now  you  feel  better,  don't  you  ?"  Madame 
La  Grande  rose  and  stood  looking  down  at  her.  "We 
dine  at  seven.  After  you  're  rested,  you  might  come  down 
and  sit  until  dinner  —  if  your  trunk  comes  in  time." 

Joyful  rose  and  looked  up  into  the  impassive  face  gravely. 
"Thank  you.  You  are  very  kind  to  me,"  she  said.  She 
longed  to  throw  her  arms  around  her  neck  and  cry  on  her 
bosom,  but  no.  She  could  not  touch  the  woman  —  she 
knew  not  why.  So  she  stood,  with  heart  throbbing  to 
express  its  loneliness  and  its  longing,  and  with  arms  that 
ached  to  embrace  a  dear  one  hanging  straight  at  her  side, 
and  Madame  La  Grande  left  her  standing  thus,  and  shut 
the  door  softly  as  she  went. 


CHAPTER  XVH 

AFTER  THE   MANNER  OF  THE  WORLD 

But  of  the  man  ?    Nay,  that  is  neither  here  nor  there  — 
For  he  was  but  a  man,  —  and  she,  they  say,  was  fair. 
So  let  it  pass.     Alas  ! 

AN  hour  crept  slowly  away.  Joyful  sat  with  her  grand- 
father's great  silver  watch,  gazing  at  the  circling  second  hand 
spining  round  and  round.  Her  eyes  filled  with  tears  which 
she  constantly  wiped  away.  Presently  she  heard  a  heavy 
step  along  the  hall,  and  a  man  entered,  who  carelessly 
deposited  her  small  trunk  on  the  floor.  Then  he  stood  a 
moment  looking  at  her  and  grinning  unpleasantly.  She 
thought  he  wanted  pay,  so  she  opened  her  pocket-book. 

"It's  been  paid  for,"  he  said,  and  strode  off. 

She  hated  the  man's  grin.  "He  must  have  seen  I  had 
been  crying,"  she  thought.  So  she  crowded  back  her  tears, 
and  washed  her  face  to  hide  their  traces.  "  Grand-daddy" 
would  like  her  to  be  brave.  Then  she  opened  her  trunk, 
and  put  on  the  pink  dimity  dress.  She  loved  the  white 
one  better,  but  this  must  do.  She  would  save  the  other  for 
Sunday.  She  hoped  Madame  La  Grande  would  not  want 
her  to  wear  her  best  things  every  day.  She  could  not 
afford  that. 

She  thought  of  Elizabeth,  so  far  away  —  perhaps  across 
the  ocean,  and  knowing  nothing  of  her  sorrow  —  and 
again  her  tears  flowed ;  but  she  felt  ashamed  to  cry  any 

264 


AFTER  THE   MANNER   OF  THE   WORLD      265 

more,  since  she  had  found  a  position  the  very  first  thing, 
and  could  begin  to  earn  her  own  living  at  once.  Then  she 
knelt  beside  her  bed,  and  prayed  that  she  might  teach  well, 
and  that  those  she  loved  might  be  kept  from  harm.  How 
few  they  were  !  Mrs.  Drew  and  Elizabeth  first,  and  then 
Nathanael,  and  Mr.  Thorn,  and  last  of  all  Jack.  But  she 
did  not  pray  that  he  might  come  back  to  her,  as  in  her 
heart  she  did  of  the  others.  No.  If  he  came  back  now, 
she  would  have  no  more  excuse,  and  would  have  to  marry 
him  —  perhaps. 

It  grew  dark  in  the  room,  and  she  went  out  in  the  hall, 
which  was  dimly  lighted  at  the  far  end.  The  place  seemed 
as  silent  as  the  grave,  and  no  one  was  to  be  seen.  A  sense 
of  dread  stole  over  her,  and  her  nerves  tingled  as  she  crept 
slowly,  peering  into  the  shadows,  to  the  end  of  the  corridor 
and  down  the  stairs. 

Here  two  lights  were  burning,  and  the  gilt  brass  fixtures 
seemed  splendid  to  her.  She  passed  closed  doors,  and 
thought  she  heard  voices  behind  some  of  them.  Her  feet 
sank  deep  in  the  velvet  carpet,  and  the  silence  of  her  own 
tread  seemed  uncanny.  Suddenly  she  stood  still,  appalled. 
A  crash,  and  the  sound  of  breaking  glass,  accompanied  by 
wild  shrieks  of  laughter,  sounded  through  an  open  transom 
overhead.  She  clung  to  the  stair  railing,  trembling  and 
white.  Why  did  they  laugh  like  that?  Were  they  the 
ones  she  was  to  teach  ?  She  would  never  be  able  to  manage 
girls  who  laughed  that  way.  Then  the  door  was  thrown 
open  and  a  young  woman  swept  out.  Joyful  thought  her 
the  most  beautiful  being  she  had  ever  looked  upon. 

She  seemed  more  diaphanous  than  real.  Her  head  had 
a  pretty  tilt  like  the  head  of  a  bird,  as  she  stood  a  moment 


266  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

looking  down  at  Joyful.  Her  neck  and  arms  were  bare, 
and  she  moved  along  as  if  she  were  borne  on  her  swirling 
draperies  instead  of  treading  the  ground.  She  would  have 
passed  on,  but  the  sad  appeal  in  Joyful's  eyes  drew  her 
back. 

"What  do  you  want?"  she  said  pleasantly.  "Is  there 
anything  I  can  do  for  you?" 

"Only  to  show  me  where  to  go,  thank  you.  I  am  the 
new  French  teacher,  and  Madame  La  Grande  told  me  to  go 
down  to  the  parlor  when  I  was  ready." 

"The  new  —  what?"  The  young  woman's  voice  had  a 
note  of  dismay,  and  her  eyebrows  lifted. 

"I  am  to  teach  French  here." 

"Oh,  I  understand."  She  smiled  and  closed  the  door 
quickly  after  her  of  the  room  she  had  just  left.  "Well  — 
don't  go  to  the  parlor.  Come  with  me  to  my  room  —  it 
will  be  pleasanter.  Were  you  frightened  at  the  noise? 
It  is  only  Bess  and  Nan  acting  like  lunatics.  One  of  them 
kicked  over  the  table  with  all  the  glasses." 

She  floated  on  ahead  of  Joyful  the  whole  length  of  the 
corridor,  and  threw  open  a  door  into  a  large  and  luxuriously 
furnished  apartment.  A  bed  with  wonderfully  embroidered 
counterpane  stood  in  an  alcove,  and  there  were  divans  and 
cushions,  and  window  seats  and  cushions,  and  deep  chairs 
and  cushions  —  Joyful  thought  there  were  cushions  enough 
to  furnish  twenty  homes.  On  a  beautiful  inlaid  French 
dressing  table  were  many  silver  articles,  and  on  the  walls 
were  pictures  in  gold  frames  of  little  cupids,  and  beautiful 
ladies.  Disposed  about  on  shelves  and  tables  were  vases 
and  lamps  of  gold  and  green,  and  figures  in  white  marble, 
and  on  the  floor  were  footstools  and  rich  rugs. 


AFTER  THE  MANNER  OF  THE  WORLD      267 

Joyful  gazed  with  amazement,  while  the  older  girl 
smilingly  watched  her.  Presently  her  eyes  fastened  on  a 
piece  of  tapestry  representing  a  man  in  fancy  costume, 
bowing,  hat  in  hand,  to  a  lady  equally  ornate  as  to  dress. 

"Do  you  like  that?"  asked  the  girl. 

"I  don't  know.  I  always  thought  Louise  De  la  Valliere 
much  more  beautiful  than  that." 

"Why?" 

"I  don't  see  how  she  could  charm  the  heart  of  a  king 
otherwise  —  and  he  — 

"Go  on.  What  of  him?"  Still  she  paused.  "Come. 
What  is  it  about  him?" 

"I  'm  afraid  I  'm  not  very  polite,  criticizing  your  pictures." 

The  girl  laughed.     "I  don't  care.    What  is  it?" 

"He  looks  just  like  a  dressed-up  doll  I  saw  once." 

Then  the  girl  laughed  again,  and  there  was  a  quality  in 
the  laugh  that  struck  Joyful  unpleasantly.  She  turned 
and  looked  at  her  gravely. 

"I  don't  care  what  you  say  about  my  pictures,  you're 
unique.  Come  and  sit  here  beside  me,  you  pretty  little 
pink  thing,  you !" 

"I  will  sit  here,  thank  you,"  said  Joyful,  taking  a  chair 
facing  her.  She  sank  far  down  in  its  cushioned  depths 
and  seemed  lost. 

"No,  sit  here  beside  me.    That's  a  man's  chair." 

"I'm  afraid  I  shall  crush  your  beautiful  dress." 

"No,  you  won't."  She  gathered  the  pile  of  shimmering 
ruffles  about  her.  "Here  's  a  place.  I  wish  to  talk  with  you 
comfortably,  and  I  can't  while  your  great  eyes  stare  at  me 
so." 

Joyful  took  the  seat  timidly.     She  was  hurt.     "I  did  n't 


268  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

mean  to  stare  at  you  —  but  —  you  are  more  beautiful 
than  any  one  I  ever  saw  before." 

The  girl  gave  a  low,  soft  laugh  of  pleasure.  "I've  been 
told  that  before,  but  never  by  a  girl,"  she  said.  She  put  her 
arms  about  Joyful  and  drew  her  close.  "Come.  Don't 
be  so  stiff.  Snuggle  up  here  and  tell  me  where  you  come 
from.  How  did  you  know  that  was  a  picture  of  Louise 
De  la  Valliere  and  old  Louis?" 

"Oh,  I  have  read  about  them  in  my  books.  I  love  Marie 
Antoinette  best  of  all,  don't  you  ?  I  'm  glad  we  live  nowa- 
days, when  people  are  not  so  wicked  as  that  old  king  was." 

The  girl's  lips  curled.  "He  was  only  a  bad  old  man,  just 
like  the  men  nowadays." 

Joyful  lifted  her  head  and  looked  in  the  girl's  face. 
"Bad?" 

"Yes,  bad,  bad,  bad!"  Her  eyes  glowed,  and  the  last 
words  were  almost  screamed  in  Joyful's  ears.  "I  tell  you 
half  the  men  —  more  than  half —  are  worse  than  old 
Louis,  and  they  are  willing  to  make  us  like  themselves.  I 
know  what  they  are.  I  understand  them." 

Joyful  tried  to  rise,  but  was  drawn  back  and  held  in 
those  quivering  bare  arms. 

In  her  mind  the  historic  sins  were  shrouded  in  the  ro- 
mance of  mystery,  like  the  sins  of  the  Greek  gods.  She 
had  never  learned  to  connect  the  thought  of  active  evil 
with  the  present  age.  Her  grandfather  had  read  the  news- 
papers down  at  the  village  store  at  home,  giving  expurgated 
accounts  of  the  world's  happenings,  and  her  grandmother 
had  subscribed  to  a  weekly  church  paper  and  a  small 
missionary  sheet  that  came  into  the  house  once  a  month ; 
while  Joyful  had  dreamed  out  her  happy  little  life  with  her 


Joyful  was  moved  for  the  first  time  to  active  responsiveness. 
Page  269. 


AFTER   THE   MANNER   OF   THE   WORLD      269 

old  books,  and  was  filled  with  a  strange  wisdom  that  went 
straight  to  the  heart  of  things  without  circumlocution  or 
sophistries.  Now  she  lay  there  —  crushed,  like  a  hurt 
creature,  wondering  and  frightened. 

Presently  the  girl  laughed  again,  and  released  her,  then 
drew  her  close  as  before,  and  petted  her.  " There!  I 
have  scared  you.  Never  mind.  I  am  very  angry  just  now 
—  at  a  man  —  but  we  '11  talk  of  something  pleasant." 
She  rose  and  lighted  a  lamp  with  a  pink  shade  that  cast 
a  rosy  glow  over  them  both.  "  Ah,  you  look  like  a  pink  rose 
now,  a  la  France.  You  pretty  thing  —  you  'd  captivate 
any  one.  You  'd  draw  the  heart  out  of  a  mandrake.  She  's 
a  cute  one,  Madame  La  Grande  is.  Tell  me  now  everything 
about  yourself.  Who  are  you,  and  how  on  earth  did  you  get 
in  here  ?  She  found  you  and  brought  you,  I  '11  warrant." 

A  feeling  of  reserve  came  upon  Joyful,  and  she  drew  away, 
but  the  girl  seized  her  again  forcefully. 

"Don't  draw  away  from  me.  I  can't  bear  it.  You  come 
from  the  country,  don't  you  ?  You  're  as  fragrant  as  the 
hills,  and  as  fresh  and  sweet  as  a  wild  flower,  and  you  have 
thorns,  too,  no  doubt.  If  I  were  walking  on  a  hillside,  and 
should  see  a  wild  rose,  I  would  snatch  it  and  hold  it,  and 
love  it,  even  if  the  thorns  drew  blood  from  my  very  heart. 
Tell  me,  why  do  you  shrink  from  me  ?  Is  it  a  feeling  inside 
you  as  though  I  were  —  as  though  you  don't  wish  to  be 
too  near  me  —  to  touch  me  —  ?  " 

There  was  a  pathetic  quiver  in  the  voice,  and  Joyful  was 
moved  for  the  first  time  to  active  responsiveness.  She  put 
up  her  hand  and  touched  the  girl's  cheek  with  timid  yet 
tender  caress. 

"No,  no.    You  are  so   beautiful,  I  would    rather    sit 


270  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

where  I  can  look  at  you.  You  are  not  like  a  rose,  as  you 
say  I  am,  but  you  are  a  white  lily,  only  not  cold  and  proud 
like  one,  but  so  wonderful  and  beautiful.  You  are  like  a 
dream  girl,  and  here  I  am  crushing  your  lovely  dress.  Are 
you  going  to  a  party  ?  Do  you  dress  like  this  every  day  ?  " 

"No,  and  yes.  At  least,  sometimes  I  do."  She  gave  a 
short,  derisive  laugh,  and  Joyful  shrank  from  her  as  before. 
"What  is  the  matter?" 

"Why  do  you  laugh  that  way  ?  I  saw  a  man  smile  once, 
and  his  smile  looked  as  your  laugh  sounds." 

"So?  You  are  sensitive  to  moods.  I  was  thinking  of 
the  aptness  of  your  comparison.  White  lilies  are  put  on 
the  altars  of  churches,  and  in  the  hands  of  brides.  Well,  it 
may  come  to  the  same  thing  at  last.  After  a  time  they  are 
thrown  into  the  ash  heap,  or  in  the  gutter." 

She  reached  over  her  head  and  touched  a  bell,  and  a  boy 
appeared,  wearing  a  green  suit  with  brass  buttons. 

"Jim,  have  two  dinners  sent  up  this  evening  —  a  bottle 
of  champagne  and  one  glass.  Hear?  One  glass." 

The  boy  nodded  and  went  away. 

"What  a  pretty  suit  he  wears,"  said  Joyful. 

"Yes?"  This  time  the  girl's  laugh  was  a  merry  one. 
"You  noticed  I  said  one  glass.  That  was  because  I  shall 
give  you  no  champagne.  I  am  going  to  keep  you  as  you 
are,  and  not  let  you  get  spoiled.  I  shall  have  your  dinners 
sent  up  with  mine.  You  shall  not  eat  with  those  common 
girls  who  go  down  in  the  restaurant  below." 

"Am  I  to  teach  them  French?" 

The  girl  bit  her  lip.  "Possibly,"  she  said  carelessly. 
"  You  can  teach  me  French,  at  any  rate.  Now  go  on.  Tell 
me  about  yourself.  How  came  you  to  learn  it?" 


AFTER  THE  MANNER   OF  THE  WORLD      271 

So  the  two  sat  there  in  the  warm  rosy  light,  the  stained 
and  the  innocent,  close  clasped  in  each  other's  arms,  heart 
beating  against  heart,  while  Joyful  told  the  story  of  her 
simple,  sweet  young  life,  and  the  sorrow  that  had  come  into 
it,  and  when  she  finished,  the  tears  were  rolling  down  the 
girl's  cheeks,  and  it  was  Joyful  who  essayed  to  comfort  her, 
and  not  she  Joyful. 

The  dinners  had  been  brought  and  were  getting  cold. 
"Don't  mind  me,"  said  the  girl.  "I  laugh  when  I  'm  sorry 
and  cry  when  I  'm  glad.  I  have  n't  been  so  happy  in  three 
years.  I  have  n't  held  anything  so  pure  and  sweet  in  my 
arms.  It 's  like  holding  a  baby."  Then  she  pushed  her 
away  and  laughed.  "I  can't  hold  you  forever.  This  is 
only  a  mood  —  a  moment.  Now  we  must  eat." 

Then  she  bathed  her  face,  and  touched  it  lightly  here  and 
there  with  powder  and  a  dab  of  rouge.  "You  see,  I  mustn't 
be  ugly,  whatever  I  do  —  only  I  have  n't  arrived  at  the  hair- 
bleaching  stage  yet.  That  comes  later." 

The  look  Joyful  gave  her  was  uncomprehending.  "You 
never  could  be  ugly,  if  you  tried.  What  is  the  hair-bleach- 
ing stage  ?  Getting  gray  ?  You  won't  be  gray  for  years 
and  years.  That  red  on  your  cheeks  makes  you  look  a  little 
ieverish.  You  were  prettier  without  it." 

"Then  I  '11  wash  it  off.  There  —  is  that  better  ?  You  see 
it 's  just  a  part  of  my  dress,  the  red  is.  Call  me  Marie.  That 
is  my  name  —  Marie  Vaile.  Yours  is  the  prettiest  name." 

"Marie?  Why  between  us  we  make  Marie  Antoinette, 
the  queen  of  sorrows.  My  middle  name  is  Antoinette,  after 
my  mother." 

"  So  ?  Then  don't  let  Madame  La  Grande  call  you  Joyful. 
Tell  her  you  wish  to  be  called  Antoinette." 


272  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

"Why?    I  have  always  been  called  Joyful." 

"So  I  supposed,  but  here  I  would  n't  go  by  that  name  — 
because  —  Antoinette  is  more  Frenchy,  you  know  —  and 
if  you  are  to  teach  French,  it  would  be  best  to  be  in  keeping 
with  your  French  name." 

"Yes.  I  hope  they'll  like  me.  Don't  you  think  I  was 
very  fortunate  to  find  a  situation  so  soon  ?  But  I  suppose 
I  ought  to  make  some  arrangement  about  —  how  much  I 
am  to  receive  —  ought  I  not  ?  She  did  n't  say  anything 
about  that." 

"Didn't  she?  Well,  eat,  little  pink  rose,  eat.  Don't 
worry.  I  '11  ask  her  to  let  me  have  your  services  alone  for 
a  little  while  —  a  few  weeks  —  until  — " 

There  was  a  sharp  rap  at  the  door,  and  Marie,  with  a 
frown  of  impatience,  rose.  "There  she  is  after  you,  no 
doubt.  You  stay  right  here  and  don't  stir."  She  went 
out,  closing  the  door  quickly  after  her. 

Joyful  felt  her  heart  beating  up  in  her  very  throat.  For 
the  first  time  in  her  life  she  feared.  She  was  afraid  of 
Madame  La  Grande.  When  at  last  Marie  returned  —  a  long 
time  it  had  seemed  to  Joyful  —  her  step  was  buoyant,  and 
her  face  wore  an  expression  of  triumph.  She  said  nothing, 
but  leaned  back,  sipping  her  wine,  and  regarding  Joyful 
intently.  Presently  she  raised  her  glass  between  her  eye 
and  the  light,  and  then  lifted  it  high  above  her  head.  / 

"  Here 's  to  Madame  La  Grande.  May  she  soon  die  and  be 
buried  and  rot,"  she  cried,  and  drank  to  the  last  drop.  "Don't 
be  scared,  child,  this  bottle  is  n't  half  gone  yet.  I  'm  sorry 
you  can't  have  any.  Look  here.  Look  in  my  eyes.  Tell 
me.  Don't  you  think  she's  charming?" 

"Who?" 


273 

"  Madame  La  Grande."  She  poured  herself  another  glass, 
and  drank  it  off,  and  then  filled  the  glass  again  and  put  it 
to  her  lips.  Joyful  turned  pale  and  caught  her  hand. 

"Oh,  why  do  you?  Don't  drink  it.  I'm  sure  it's  not 
good  for  you." 

"Yes  it  is.    It  keeps  me  up." 

But  Joyful  still  held  her  hand.  "Then  if  it's  good  for 
you,  why  don't  you  give  it  to  me  ?  Dear,  beautiful  Marie 

—  tell  me  —  tell  me  what  is  the  matter  here  ?    What  is  it 
you  know  that  I  must  not  know?" 

"Nothing,  child,  nothing.  I'm  so  constituted  that  I 
have  the  gift  of  hating.  You  need  n't  be  horrified  —  do 
you  like  her,  yourself  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  I  feel  a  little  —  I  never  was  afraid  of 
any  one  before." 

"I  believe  you.  Listen,  child  — "  she  pointed  to 
a  door  opening  from  her  apartment  at  the  side.  "  They 
are  moving  your  things  in  there.  Your  room  is  to  be  right 
here,  close  to  mine,  and  you  are  to  teach  me  and  stay  near 
me,  and  I  have  promised  her  all  kinds  of  things  in  regard 
to  you  —  I  Ve  told  her  lies  enough  to  turn  your  hair  gray 

—  bleach  it,  you  know." 

The  lad  in  the  green  suit  interrupted  them.  He  brought 
Marie  a  card.  She  rose  and  ran  to  the  mirror.  "Wait  a 
minute,"  she  said,  and  hastily  writing  something  on  the 
back  of  the  card,  returned  it  to  the  boy.  "  Give  him  that," 
and  the  boy  went  out.  Then  turning  to  Joyful  she  placed 
her  two  hands  on  her  shoulders  and  looked  down  in  her 
face.  "Listen,"  she  spoke  rapidly,  "go  into  that  next 
room  and  lock  your  doors,  and  stay  there  until  I  come  to 
.you.  You  —  you  can't  understand  —  but  this  school  is 


274  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

—  it  is  n't  managed  very  well  and  —  some  of  the  pupils  are 
a  little  rude.  You  won't  like  them  —  brought  up  as  you 
have  been  —  I  'm  going  to  see  that  you  are  happy  here. 
Even  if  I  have  never  seen  you  before  —  I  love  you,  and  you 
must  trust  me  and  do  what  I  say.  Will  you  ?  That  room 
is  much  nicer  than  the  one  you  were  in.  It  has  every 
convenience  —  and  —  don't  be  worried,  dear,  I  will  be  near 
you.  You  —  you  '11  trust  me  ?" 

Joyful  lifted  her  arms  and  placed  them  around  the  girl's 
neck.  Her  eyes  filled  with  tears.  "I'll  do  whatever  you 
say  —  I  don't  understand  —  but  — 

Marie  took  her  in  her  arms  and  strained  her  close.  Joy- 
ful thought  she  heard  her  breathe  the  words,  "Oh,  God !" 
"  Now  hurry,  dear,"  she  said.  "  Some  one  is  coming.  Take 
the  tray  with  you  —  I  don't  wish  anything  more.  Here, 
give  me  the  wine.  I  '11  come  soon." 

Joyful  passed  into  the  next  room,  and  Marie  turned  the 
key  in  the  lock  after  her.  Then  she  drank  the  rest  of  the 
wine  in  the  glass,  and  placing  the  bottle  on  the  table  turned 
facing  the  door  and  stood  still  in  the  middle  of  the  floor 
waiting.  She  heard  the  rap,  but  said  nothing.  Then  the 
door  was  pushed  open  and  Scott  Stevens  entered.  He  closed 
the  door  softly  after  him  and  paused  before  her.  She  did 
not  speak. 

"Well,  I  am  here." 

"I  see." 

"Why  did  you  send  for  me ?" 

"Because  I  was  tired  of  being  here  without  you." 

She  stood  in  the  warm  red  glow,  with  her  arms  dropped 
at  her  side,  straight  and  tall,  her  small  head  poised  high, 
and  her  brilliant  eyes  fixed  on  his.  He  continued  to  gaze 


AFTER  THE  MANNER  OF  THE  WORLD      275 

on  her  as  if  fascinated,  then  took  a  step  nearer  and  held  out 
his  arms.  She  stepped  back. 

"You  might  at  least  shake  hands."  She  was  silent. 
"  Well,  I  can  be  seated,  at  any  rate.  I  have  n't  long  to  stay, 
so  we  may  as  well  talk  while  I  am  here." 

He  threw  aside  his  hat  and  coat,  and  dropped  into  the 
great  chair  Joyful  had  seemed  lost  in.  He  was  in  evening 
dress,  and  as  he  slowly  removed  his  gloves,  Marie  watched 
him,  still  standing,  and  without  turning  her  head.  How 
white  his  hands  were  —  like  a  woman's  —  and  he  wore 
a  flower  in  his  buttonhole  —  a  tuberose.  The  odor  seemed 
to  fill  the  room.  How  she  hated  it !  Some  woman  had 
placed  it  there,  no  doubt.  He  reached  out  and  took  her 
impassive  hand  and  drew  her  toward  him,  pulling  her  down 
to  a  seat  on  the  cushioned  arm  of  the  chair  in  which  he  sat. 

"Now,  this  is  more  comfortable.  What  is  it,  Marie? 
Haven't  the  bills  been  paid  promptly?" 

"I  hate  the  smell  of  that  flower,"  she  said.  "  Who  put  it 
there?" 

"  Very  well,  it  is  gone."  He  took  it  out  and  thrust  it  in  his 
vest  pocket.  "Now  what?  Come,  kiss  me.  What  a  cold 
reception  this  is  !  " 

She  turned  her  head  away  so  that  he  could  only  see  the 
curve  of  her  cheek  and  the  tip  of  her  perfect  chin.  "No, 
I  did  n't  ask  you  to  come  here  to  kiss  me.  You  must  come 
of  your  own  accord  for  that." 

"But  I  will  kiss  you,  and  I  am  here  of  my  own  accord." 
He  touched  his  lips  to  her  shoulder  and  drew  her  down  until 
her  head  rested  on  his  breast.  "You  play  the  very  devil 
with  me,  Marie,  —  all  my  good  resolutions  fly  to  the  winds 
when  I  get  here  with  you." 


276  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

"Good  resolutions?" 

"Yes  —  good  resolutions.  You  Ve  heard  of  such  things, 
have  n't  you  ?  I  must  lead  a  very  different  life  —  you  know 
—  sometime. "  She  lifted  her  head,  but  he  drew  it  down 
again  and  patted  her  cheek.  "Things  can't  go  on  forever 
in  the  same  way  —  you  know.  I  have  a  place  to  fill  in  the 
world,  and  I  must  fill  it  respectably.  Come,  now,  listen 
sensibly.  I  will  provide  for  you.  You  need  n't  fear.  I  '11 
see  that  you  have  everything  you  need  —  everything  you 
want,  even." 

"Then  it 's  true  —  you  are  going  to  — " 

"Marry?    Yes,  and  live  straight." 

She  struggled  from  his  grasp  to  her  feet  and  stood  before 
him  a  moment  with  her  hand  at  her  throat.  Then  she  spoke 
slowly,  with  white,  dry  lips. 

"Marry?  Live  straight?  Good  resolutions?  I  —  I 
play  the  devil  with  them  ?  Scott  Stevens,  if  there  is  such 
a  thing  in  the  universe  as  a  personal  devil,  you  are  he." 

"Marie,  be  reasonable." 

"  I  was  never  more  so.  You!  You!  Look  at  yourself. 
Who  are  you  ?  What  are  you  ?  "  Suddenly  she  threw  her 
arms  above  her  head  and  dropped  on  her  knees  at  his  side 
and  clasped  her  hands  on  his  breast.  "Don't  kill  me. 
Oh,  I  shall  die !  You  —  you  promised.  Don't  you  re- 
member when  you  came  and  took  me  from  my  home,  my 
sweet  home?  Think  what  you  promised.  I  threw  away 
everything.  I  gave  you  my  soul,  Scott.  We  are  married, 
you  and  I.  If  there  is  a  God,  He  knows  we  are  married. 
You  can't  leave  me." 

"I  promised  —  yes  —  there  are  times  when  a  man  will 
promise  anything. "  He  took  her  hands  in  his,  and  she  bowed 


AFTER  THE   MANNER  OF  THE   WORLD      277 

her  head  upon  them,  shaking  and  sobbing.  "Now,  Marie, 
this  is  of  no  use.  It  had  to  come  sometime,  you  know. 
When  it  comes  to  marrying,  a  man  can't  marry  a  girl  who 
has  done  what  you  have  -  "  he  paused. 

"Go  on,  go  on.     Say  all  you  have  to  say." 

"  That  'sail,  Marie." 

"You  knew  all  the  time  that  you  could  turn  around  some 
day  and  be  respectable,  and  I  could  not  ?  "  She  drew  back, 
and  once  more  stood  before  him,  cold  and  white  with  passion. 
"You  can  sit  there  and  smile?  An  hour  ago  I  could  have 
put  a  knife  into  your  heart  —  now  I  would  n't  soil  my  hands 
with  your  blood.  Respectable  man  !  A  girl,  because  she 
loves  a  man,  spends  on  him  all  the  gold  of  her  heart.  A 
woman,  lavish  of  her  love,  because  she  adores,  and  lays  her 
soul  at  the  feet  of  a  man,  may  not  be  respectable  —  while 
he  —  he  may  take  it  all  —  may  lure  her  to  the  very  doors 
of  hell,  and  then  —  if  he  will  only  leave  her  there,  and  go 
his  own  straight  way,  he  is  respectable  —  faugh  !  Take 
your  respectability.  Go  out  among  your  kind,  and  hold 
up  your  head.  A  man  knows  no  shame.  Society  loves  a 
man  with  a  stain." 

"See  here,  Marie,  I  '11  have  no  more  of  this." 

"No,  you  will  be  respectable.  I  love  respectability. 
Come,  let 's  be  respectable  together." 

"You  may  remain  in  these  apartments  as  long  as  you 
wish—" 

"With  a  viper  to  stand  guard  over  me  — ' 

She  was  losing  ground  in  her  frenzy,  and  he  coolly,  re- 
lentlessly talked  on.  "I  will  leave  you  enough  to  pay  all 
your  bills —  how  much  do  you  need?" 

"Nothing." 


278  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

"If  you  wish,  I  will  send  you  back  to  your  father." 

"I  will  never  go  back  to  England.  They  think  I  am  dead. 
It 's  too  respectable  there." 

"Here,  I  have  placed  this  sum  in  the  bank  to  your  account; 
you  can  draw  it  as  you  need.  You  can  keep  these  apart- 
ments as  long  as  you  wish  - 

"Oh,  Scott,  didn't  I  tell  you  I  sent  for  you  because  I  was 
tired  of  being  here  without  you  ?  Now  —  if  you  leave  me 
here  in  this  way  —  I  can  never  get  away  —  that  cat  will 
keep  me.  Scott,  I  will  not  go  one  step  deeper  in  the  mire 
for  you.  You  must  not  leave  me  here.  Scott,  oh,  Scott, 
when  you  took  me  away  from  my  beautiful  England,  did  n't 
you  love  me,  Scott?  All  those  long  sweet  days  up  and 
down  the  Mediterranean  —  we  two  —  so  happy  —  you 
said  you  loved  me.  I  did  n't  care  what  became  of  me  then, 
because  I  had  you.  I  wish  you  had  never  brought  me  back 
to  land.  You  would  have  been  kinder,  if  you  had  thrown 
me  into  the  sea  —  then  —  while  I  was  happy.  You  remem- 
ber how  the  sharks  used  to  swim  around  the  boat  and  gleam 
white  in  the  water?  I  wish  I  had  leaped  over  the  side, 
and  they  had  eaten  me.  Take  me  away  again,  Scott.  Sail 
with  me  away  in  that  summer  sea  again.  All  your  love  will 
come  back  —  look  at  me  —  I  am  beautiful  still.  You 
know  it,  Scott.  Have  you  found  a  woman  more  beauti- 
ful than  I?" 

"No."  But  he  knew  in  his  heart  he  had  found  one 
harder  to  win. 

"Do  men  never  love  after  they  have  won?  Do  they 
always  turn  away  from  those  who  trust  them?" 

Scott  rose  and  sauntered  about  the  room.  He  could 
not  sit  there  and  watch  the  beautiful  girl  before  him  un- 


AFTER  THE  MANNER  OF  THE  WORLD      279 

moved,  and  he  had  determined  on  his  course,  and  was  not  to 
be  swerved  from  it.  At  last  he  turned  on  her  cruelly. 

"Marie  —  what  the  devil  —  You  know  I  never  can 
marry  you  and  introduce  you  as  my  wife  in  the  circle  in 
which  I  move.  It's  a  moral  impossibility  —  and  what's 
more  - 

"Then  keep  out  of  that  circle  yourself.  Stay  where  you 
belong,  if  doing  an  honorable  thing  throws  you  outside  the 
pale  of  respectability.  You  choose  the  immoral  possibility 
to  the  moral  impossibility,  do  you  ?  Very  well,  I  stay  here 
—  in  hell,  where  you  have  placed  me  —  but  not  for  long. 
You  go  your  respectable  way.  Go  and  let  some  respectable 
girl  promise  to  love,  honor,  and  obey  you.  She  will  never  do 
it  as  honestly  as  I  have  done  it,  for  you  will  carry  the  lie 
of  your  life  in  your  soul,  and  she  will  find  it  out.  Honor  you 
will  never  have.  If  there  is  a  God  —  before  Him  your  soul 
lies  deeper  in  the  pit  than  mine.  Here,  take  your  bank 
notes  with  you,  or  I  will  burn  them." 

"You  may  do  as  you  wish.  You  have  the  last  word. 
Remember  the  rental  of  these  apartments  is  only  paid  until 
the  first  of  January." 

He  went  out  without  looking  at  her  again.  If  he  had,  he 
knew  he  would  not  have  left.  He  had  indulged  too  much 
in  these  little  side  sins.  He  must  stop  sowing  wild  oats. 
A  man  had  to  settle  down  and  be  respectable  sometime. 


CHAPTER  XVIH 

A  REBUFF 

"  And  this  wind,  that  doth  sing  so  in  your  ears, 
I  know  is  no  disease  bred  in  yourself, 
But  whispered  in  by  others,  who,  in  swelling 
Your  veins  with  empty  hopes  of  much,  yet  able 
To  perform  nothing,  are  like  shallow  streams, 
That  make  themselves  so  many  heavens  to  sight, 
Since  you  may  see  in  them  the  moon  and  stars, 
The  blue  space  of  the  air,  as  far  from  us, 
To  our  weak  senses,  in  those  shallow  streams, 
As  if  they  were  as  deep  as  heaven  is  high  ; 
Yet,  with  your  middle  finger  only  sound  them, 
And  you  shall  pierce  them  to  the  very  earth." 

—  CHAPMAN,  Byron's  Conspiracy. 

THE  snow  was  falling  softly,  silently,  and  Boston  city 
showed  through  its  whiteness  mysterious  and  faint  —  a 
dream  city,  moonlike  in  its  ghostliness.  Scott  Stevens 
buttoned  his  coat  about  him  warmly,  and  swore  under  his 
breath.  His  feet  sank  in  the  white  carpet  of  snow,  and  left 
dark  imprints  of  muddy  slush  as  he  walked. 

"This  going  is  vile,"  he  muttered,  and  turned  to  look  for 
a  cab.  "Why,  Hallo!  Thorn.  Thought  you  were  in 
New  York.  You  go  sauntering  along,  gazing  about  as  if 
you  liked  this  sort  of  thing.  Here,  Hi !"  he  called,  shaking 
his  cane  at  a  cabby  just  swinging  round  the  corner.  "Take 
this  cab  with  me.  Let's  get  out  of  this."  He  climbed 
quickly  in  the  cab,  as  it  drew  up  at  the  curbing,  and  held 
the  door  open  for  Mark  to  follow. 

280 


A  REBUFF  281 

"Why,  I  don't  know,"  said  Mark,  laughing.  He  stood 
with  coat  thrown  open  and  hands  in  his  pockets.  "  I  believe 
I  rather  like  the  world  in  this  condition.  Come  out  here 
and  look  about  you  before  you  crawl  in  there  like  a  snail. 
I'll  invite  you  to  walk  with  me."  He  looked  up  at  the 
darkness  of  the  sky,  and  off  over  the  city,  with  its  million 
lights  emphasizing  the  whiteness  of  the  veil  which  the 
Almighty  was  spreading  over  it. 

"Oh,  you  artists  are  a  devilishly  careless  lot.  No,  it  may 
be  beautiful  overhead,  but,  as  the  postman  said,  'I'm  not 
traveling  that  way,'  and  it's  death  of  pneumonia  under- 
foot." 

Mark  took  hold  of  something  which  projected  from  his 
coat  pocket,  and  felt  of  it  to  see  if  it  was  all  there.  Scott 
still  held  the  door  of  the  cab  open.  "  What  have  you  there  ?  " 
he  asked. 

"Paint  brushes  wrapped  in  a  rag.  Taking  them  home  to 
wash." 

"The  deuce  you  are.  I  thought  your  studio  was  in  New 
York  now.  Come,  get  in  here.  Get  in  before  the  thing 
fills  up  with  snow.  I  want  to  talk  with  you."  Mark  took 
another  look  about  him,  and  then  stepped  slowly  in.  Scott 
brushed  off  the  snow  which  had  fallen  in  on  his  clothing, 
and  directed  the  cabman  to  drive  to  his  club.  "You  may 
like  it,  but  I  'm  not  partial  to  snow,  myself.  I  shall  leave 
for  other  parts  of  the  globe  as  soon  as  I  can  make  my 
arrangements.  Where  are  you  now?" 

"Still  in  New  York.  I'm  only  here  finishing  up  that 
mural  work  in  Mervain  Thompson's  music  room." 

"Oh,  you're  doing  that?  I  thought  you  would  get  it 
when  Thompson  saw  those  panels  in  my  yacht.  He  ad- 


282  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

mired  them  tremendously.  I  put  in  a  good  word  for  you  — 
ought  to  bring  you  quite  a  sum.  Thompson  has  the  money, 
you  know." 

"It 's  not  so  great.  I  was  glad  to  do  it  for  other  consid- 
erations." 

"  Of  course.  Splendid  advertisement,  great  piece  like  that, 
and  where  the  right  people  see  it.  Now  those  panels  have 
been  constantly  admired." 

Mark  smiled.  He  refrained  from  mentioning  that  he  had 
been  at  work  on  designs  for  that  music  room  before  Stevens 
ever  thought  of  panels  for  his  yacht.  He  took  the  patroniz- 
ing with  stoical  philosophy,  as  one  of  the  disagreeable  ad- 
juncts of  his  profession  —  an  inevitable  fact  where  such 
men  as  Stevens  were  concerned,  and  the  man  before  him 
contentedly  talked  on. 

"Yes,  they  have  made  quite  a  sensation.  You  were 
particularly  happy  hi  the  one  from  Miss  Parsons.  It 's  by 
far  the  finest  of  the  three." 

"Think  so?  I  prefer  the  one  Mrs.  Renolds  posed  for, 
myself." 

"That's  just  it.  I've  always  heard  artists  themselves 
were  the  poorest  judges  of  their  own  work,  and  this  proves 
it.  Why,  either  of  the  others  are  better  than  that.  I  defy 
any  one  who  did  not  know  Mrs.  Renolds  posed  for  it  to  see 
a  trace  of  her,  and  she  's  a  remarkably  beautiful  woman, 
too." 

"Oh,  well  —  I  thought  myself  entitled  to  the  artist's 
privilege  of  idealizing." 

"  I  Ve  noticed  this,  too.  An  artist  is  never  content  to 
take  a  beautiful  thing  exactly  as  he  finds  it.  He  's  always 
trying  to  idealize.  Oh,  I  'm  not  criticizing,  you  understand. 


A  REBUFF  283 

I  'm  satisfied.  Beautiful  work,  every  one  of  them.  Every 
one  says  so.  You  know,  Thorn,  it  came  over  me  in  a  flash 
as  I  stood  before  Miss  Parsons'  picture  to-day,  what  a  howl- 
ing success  you  would  be  if  you  only  had  such  a  model  — 
the  monopoly  I  mean  —  of  such  a  model,  one  from  whom 
you  could  create  a  type.  I  believe  the  right  sort  of  a  model 
is  as  essential  to  the  success  of  an  artist  as  genius." 

"A  good  model  is  certainly  a  great  help.  They  're  hard 
to  get,  professionally,  you  know.  I  Ve  never  yet  seen  one 
from  whom  I  would  be  willing  to  create  a  type,  as  you  call 
it.  Perhaps  I  'm  not  idealist  enough  for  that  — " 

"Oh,  idealist  go  hang!  That's  your  hobby.  I  believe 
it 's  what  holds  you  back.  The  public  don't  care  for  idealism. 
You  must  make  a  success  of  yourself  first,  then  you  can  do 
what  you  please  with  the  public.  Train  them  to  appreciate 
idealism.  They  don't  care  a  cent  about  it  now  —  it 's  all 
whim  with  the  public.  There  are  only  a  few  of  us  who  have  the 
courage  of  our  convictions  —  who  dare  take  you  on  faith." 

"Most  kind  of  you,  I  'm  sure.  I  think  I  must  leave  you 
at  this  corner.  I  go  to  my  aunt's." 

"No,  no.  Let  me  take  you  to  the  door.  This  is  no  night 
to  be  on  foot." 

"About  that  question  of  the  model,  I  may  need  one. 
Good  models  are  scarce  — " 

"I  know  just  the  one  for  you  —  a  little  English  girl.  I 
don't  know  that  she  has  ever  done  anything  of  the  kind,  but 
she  might  be  induced  to.  She  's  the  most  perfect  thing  your 
eyes  ever  rested  on,  and  the  beauty  of  it  is  she  's  unpro- 
fessional —  unspoiled.  If  you  could  get  her,  you  would  n't 
have  to  idealize.  She 's  ready  made  to  your  hand.  She  's 
everything  —  plastic  —  subtle  — " 


284  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

"How  did  you  happen  to  find  her?" 

"Oh,  I  saw  her  first  in  England  —  little  seaport  town 
where  I  happened  to  touch.  I  stayed  there  some  time  and 
saw  considerable  of  her,  and  now  she 's  in  this  country.  I  Ve 
just  been  in  to  call  on  her."  He  took  a  card  from  his  pocket 
and  scratched  on  the  back  her  name  and  address.  "You  '11 
find  her  there,  chaperoned  by  the  woman  from  whom  she 
has  her  apartments.  She  's  a  lonely  little  thing  —  been  un- 
fortunate, I  guess,  but  mighty  independent.  You  '11  have 
to  find  out  a  way  to  get  at  her.  Better  not  let  her  know  I 
suggested  this;  she  'd  never  do  it  in  the  world  —  too  proud. 
She  's  of  good  family,  you  know  —  not  one  of  your  common 
sort,  by  any  means.  I  Ve  an  idea  you  'd  be  doing  her  a 
service,  and  she  's  one  you  could  get  a  monopoly  on." 

Mark  took  the  card  in  an  absent-minded  way,  and  thrust 
it  in  his  pocket.  "  Thank  you,  thank  you.  I  '11  think 
about  it."  He  peered  out  into  the  night.  "I'm  here,  I 
think.  Yes."  He  called  to  the  cabman,  and  they  stopped. 

"Good  night,"  said  Scott,  "I'm  glad  we  met." 

"Thanks  — so  am  I." 

"You  take  my  suggestion  about  that  model  — you  won't 
regret  it." 

"Oh,  yes.  Well,  I '11  think  about  it.  Thank  you.  Good 
night." 

Mark  strolled  off  through  the  obscurity  and  slowly 
mounted  the  steps  of  a  dignified  Beacon  Street  home.  Mrs. 
Parsons  would  have  found  it  hard  to  forgive  him  had  he 
made  any  hired  lodging  his  headquarters  while  she  was  in 
Boston.  As  he  stood  in  the  vestibule,  shaking  the  snow 
from  his  greatcoat,  she  came  out  to  meet  him. 

"Why,  Mark  !    How  late  you  have  worked  !     We  waited 


A  REBUFF  285 

supper  for  you,  and  then  Louise  had  a  meeting  she  thought 
she  must  attend,  and  so  we  gave  you  up." 

Mark  kissed  her.  "You  must  never  wait  for  me,  Aunt 
Kate,  I  'm  such  an  uncertain  quantity." 

"I  wouldn't,  if  I  thought  you  would  ever  think  of  any- 
thing to  eat  if  left  to  yourself  —  what  on  earth  you  do  in 
New  York,  with  no  one  to  think  for  you,  I  can't  imagine. 
Have  you  had  any  dinner  ?  " 

"Why,  come  to  think  of  it,  I  don't  believe  I  have  —  but 
you  must  n't  let  me  make  trouble.  I  was  just  going  to  a 
restaurant  when  Scott  Stevens  picked  me  up,  and  brought 
me  here.  Can't  I  go  out  and  wait  on  myself  ?  " 

"No,  Mark.  I  told  Stokes  to  keep  something  hot,  and  it 
will  be  on  the  table  in  a  moment." 

' '  That 's  the  way  you  spoil  me.  If  you  'd  let  me  go  hungry, 
or  make  me  help  myself,  don't  you  see  —  Where 's  Louise, 
did  you  say?" 

"Oh,  she's  become  a  kind  of  an  Oriental  nowadays.  I 
don't  know  whether  she 's  Hindoo  or  Mahomedan,  but  she 
has  gone  to  one  of  those  meetings  where  they  talk  all  kinds  of 
pagan  nonsense.  The  coupe  has  gone  for  her,  so  I  think 
she  '11  soon  return.  She  has  given  up  eating  meat  now,  and 
lives  mostly  on  rice  and  tabasco  sauce,  and  dates  and  nuts." 

Mrs.  Parsons  looked  anxious  and  worried.  As  she  talked, 
she  preceded  Mark  into  the  dining  room,  and  sat  with  him 
while  he  ate.  ' '  I  don't  know  whatever  is  to  become  of  Louise. 
She  has  now  one  of  the  strangest  notions  in  her  head." 

"Oh,  they  '11  all  pass,  Aunty;  you  know  they  always  do." 

"  I  don't  know.  She  says  she  does  n't  believe  in  marriage. 
I  do  wish,  Mark,  that  you  would  just  bring  her  to  the  point 
and  marry  her  and  done  with  it." 


286  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

"I  will,  Aunt.  I  Ve  gotten  my  affairs  at  last  so  I  know 
what  I  'm  doing  —  suppose  I  send  for  a  minister  or  a  magis- 
trate and  marry  her  as  soon  as  she  comes  in." 

"Oh,  Mark!    Do  talk  sense." 

"That 's  very  good  sense.  I  Ve  got  to  marry  her  as  soon 
as  I  have  brought  her  to  the  point,  as  you  say,  or  she  will  not 
be  there  when  I  come  again." 

"I  know,  but  I  think,  Mark,  if  you  really  cared  —  or  I 
mean  appeared  to  care  a  little  more  —  she  would  —  How 
long  is  it  since  you  were  here  last  ?  Three  weeks  ?  —  and 
now  —  I  don't  want  to  appear  to  criticize  you,  Mark,  but 
you  see  how  careless  you  seem.  You  send  word  you  will 
dine  with  us  this  evening,  and  we  wait,  until  at  last  she  has 
to  go;  then  you  come  sauntering  in  as  if  you  had  never 
thought  of  her." 

"You're  right,  by  Jove!  I  became  engrossed  in  that 
house,  and  before  I  knew  it,  the  workmen  were  all  gone,  and 
there  I  was  alone  in  the  dark,  and  as  cold  as  Greenland. 
It 's  going  to  be  a  fine  thing,  though,  Aunt  Kate.  You  and 
Louise  must  come  and  see  it  to-morrow.  I  got  a  chance  last 
summer  at  a  splendid  woman's  head  for  my  central  figure 
in  the  Tannhauser  group,  Elizabeth  —  and  by  all  the  saints 
-her  name  is  Elizabeth,  too.  I  had  forgotten  that." 

"Was  it  that  charming  little  unfinished  thing  in  a  spatter 
of  golden  light  to  which  Louise  took  such  a  fancy  ?  I  would 
hardly  think  that  face  a  good  type  for  Elizabeth." 

"That?  Oh,  no.  Indeed,  no.  As  different  as— "  Mark 
stopped  talking,  and  stared  straight  before  him  a  moment. 
Then  he  rose,  and  placing  his  arm  about  his  aunt,  led  her 
into  the  library,  and  sat  beside  her,  gazing  into  the  open  fire. 
The  flames  leaped  and  danced.  He  leaned  forward  and 


A  REBUFF  287 

stirred  the  lumps  of  coal,  but  what  he  really  saw  was  Joyful 
Heatherby,  moving  among  tall  forest  trees,  now  in  shade 
and  now  in  shifting  sunlight,  with  the  azure  and  gold  and 
green  scarf  fluttering  about  her. 

"Don't  you  think  —  Mark  —  " 

"Yes,  Aunt."  He  came  back  to  his  present  with  a  start. 
"  Yes,  you  are  undeniably  right.  Yet  it  is  really  not  so  much 
indifference  as  it  seems.  You  remember  what  she  said  to 
me  last  spring  at  the  exhibition  ?  She  has  said  it  many  times 
since.  I  must  succeed,  she  will  never  have  me  else,  and 
I  don't  know  why  she  should.  No  man  who  is  not  a  success 
wishes  to  offer  himself  to  a  woman,  and  success  means  in  my 
case  devotion  to  my  art ;  and  inversely  that  means,  in  my 
case,  devotion  to  Louise."  The  outer  door  opened,  and  a 
light  step  was  heard  in  the  hall. 

"There  she  is,  Mark."  His  aunt  rose  and,  bending, 
kissed  him  on  his  brow.  "I  'm  going  to  leave  you.  Re- 
member, dear,  I  think  you  have  met  with  quite  success 
enough  to  satisfy  any  girl." 

"To  satisfy  you,  Aunt."  She  smiled  back  at  him,  and 
glided  noiselessly  away  with  her  finger  on  her  lips. 

"Mamma  Kate."  The  heavy  hangings  were  pushed 
open  behind  him,  and  Louise  stood  there,  queenly  beautiful. 
She  still  wore  her  hat  and  cloak.  "  Why,  Mark  !  Is  it  you  ? 
I  thought  I  heard  voices.  Where  is  Mamma  Kate  ?  " 

"She  was  here,  but  she  is  gone."  He  came  toward  her, 
his  face  suddenly  radiant,  his  hands  extended. 

"We  gave  you  up,  Mark,  and- 

He  caught  her  in  his  arms  and  swung  her  into  the  room. 
"  You  did  ?  Well,  I  have  n't  given  you  up.  Kiss  me,  Louise, 
kiss  me." 


288  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

She  lifted  her  face  and  gave  him  a  calm  little  kiss.  "There, 
then,  Mark,  let  go  of  me." 

He  held  her  off  at  arm's  length.  "Cool  and  calm,  and 
beautiful  as  a  dream.  You  make  me  think  of  an  Arctic 
night,  and  the  aurora  borealis.  You  are  never  at  fault  in 
your  dress,  whatever  you  may  be  in  your  kissing.  Pale 
blue  cloth  and  heaps  of  white  fur  —  pale  blue  hat  and  a 
white  plume  and  a  white  dove,  by  Jove !  Pale  gold  hair, 
like  gold  on  a  sky  of  blue,  and  eyes  blue  as  the  heavens. 
Mighty  lovely,  but  rather  cold,  Louise." 

She  smiled  and  began  to  unfasten  her  cloak.  "Now 
you  have  taken  my  inventory,  you  may  help  me  off  with 
my  things.  Thanks.  Lay  them  out  in  the  hall,  they  are 
full  of  the  cold."  She  sank  in  the  large  chair,  and  held  out 
her  hands  to  the  fire.  "I  believe  I  will  have  some  wine, 
Mark.  Ring  for  Stokes,  will  you?  I  feel  quite  chilled." 

Mark  fetched  the  wine  himself,  and  then  sat  opposite 
her,  watching  her  while  she  sipped  it. 

"Have  a  glass  yourself,  Mark.    It  will  be  more  sociable." 

"Thank  you,  I  am  warm  enough.  I  am  ardent."  He 
drew  nearer  her,  and  made  her  look  in  his  eyes. 

"  What  is  it,  Mark  ?  Do  take  some  wine."  She  poured 
him  a  glass  and  held  it  out.  "I  '11  drink  your  health." 

He  took  it  slowly.  He  felt  no  need  of  the  wine.  His 
artist's  sense  was  steeped  in  her  beauty.  "Your  loveliness 
is  my  wine,  Louise." 

She  looked  at  him  with  slightly  lifted  brows.  "It  isn't 
your  way  to  say  such  things,  you  know,  Mark,  and  you  say 
them  as  coolly  as  if  I  were  done  on  canvas,  instead  of  being 
flesh  and  blood." 

He  laughed.     "Here's  to  your  health,  your  flesh-and' 


A  REBUFF  289 

blood  self,  Louise."  He  lifted  his  glass  on  high,  and  then 
drained  it.  "  You  kissed  me  as  if  you  were  done  on  canvas." 

She  too  laughed,  and  the  pale  roses  in  her  cheeks  glowed 
with  a  deeper  shade.  Mark  began  to  analyze  his  own 
sensations.  What  was  it  that  filled  his  being  as  he  gazed 
on  her  ?  Was  it  love  in  his  heart,  or  merely  the  intoxication 
of  delight  in  her  beauty  ?  Did  she  fill  his  soul  or  his  senses  ? 

"I  have  been  thinking  a  great  deal  lately,  Mark,  and  — 

"Have  you  ?     So  have  I,  and  - 

"And  a  great  deal  of  new  light  has  come  to  me.  I  really 
ought  to  tell  you  — 

"Don't  —  just  yet.  I  am  seized  with  a  desire  to  do  the 
talking  myself,  and  —  I  'm  afraid  you  are  trying  to  say 
something  I  don't  wish  to  hear." 

She  looked  calmly  and  steadily  in  his  eyes.  "Ah,  but 
the  truth,  Mark,  don't  you  care  for  the  truth  —  the  vast, 
mysterious,  far-reaching,  unfathomable  truth?" 

"No,  not  for  the  unfathomable  truth,  I  don't  care  much 
for  that ;  but  a  little  everyday,  and  very  fathomable  truth 
I  do  care  extremely  about.  Louise,  I  'm  ready  for  that  trip 
to  the  Orient.  When  I  have  finished  this  piece  for  Mervain 
Thompson  I  '11  take  you  wherever  you  wish  to  go  —  Greece, 
Arabia,  Syria  —  I  will  go  with  you  to  search  for  your  un- 
fathomable truth,  if  you  desire,  in  the  land  of  Mahomet, 
and  if  you  really  like  their  ways  better  than  ours,  I  will  keep 
you  for  chief  wife,  and  start  a  small  harem  of  additional 
wives  over  there,  as  many  as  you  like,  only  so  you  keep 
it  within  my  still  not  overlarge  bank  account." 

"Hush,  Mark.  I'm  deadly  in  earnest.  I  have  learned 
that  all  material  things  are  but  varied  manifestations  of 
spirit,  and — " 


290  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

"I  know,  and  you  won't  eat  meat,  for  fear  of  eating  your 
great-grandparents,  or  some  one  equally  dear  to  you  — 
but  in  that  case  is  n't  it  almost  as  bad  to  have  them  killed 
for  your  adornment  ?  Who  was  the  dove  you  had  on  your 
hat,  and  all  those  white  foxes  —  who  were  the  skins  you  have 
on  your  coat  ?  Come,  Louise,  drop  all  this  and  marry  me." 

"Mark,  you  are  flippant.  Now  listen  seriously.  We 
can't  marry,  Mark,  not  in  the  material  and  worldly  sense. 
I  carrot.  I  don't  believe  in  marriage.  It  is  a  cheap  and 
vulgar  concession  to  mortal  and  finite  modes  of  existence  — 
a  throwing  away  of  the  spirit  to  selfish,  material,  and  purely 
mundane  uses.  Think,  Mark.  The  marriage  service  gives 
us  solely  and  materially  to  each  other.  I  would  no  longer 
be  a  spirit,  free,  unhampered,  unbound  by  all  fleshly  ties. 
Whereas  now  I  am  part  of  the  infinite  soul  —  then  I 
would  be  monopolized,  owned,  and  controlled  by  the  finite 
You." 

Mark  leaned  back  and  gave  a  low  whistle.  She  turned 
her  profile  toward  him,  and  even  in  his  mystification  and 
perturbation  he  studied  her  by  line  and  color.  At  last  he 
said,  "Louise,  you  're  —  you  're  —  too  fine  —  too  exquisite 
a  being  to  be  turned  wholly  over  to  infinity,  and  be  lost  to  me. 
We  mortals  need  such  beings.  Now  look  at  this  matter 
by  the  sane  light  of  common  sense." 

"Oh,  Mark!"  She  made  a  gesture  of  despair.  "You 
don't  understand.  You  never  will." 

"Not  but  what  I  can.  What's  the  matter  with  my 
belonging  to  infinity,  too,  and  our  getting  married  on  that 
plane?" 

"  That 's  just  it.  If  we  were  both  on  that  plane,  we  would 
never  need  to  marry.  Our  spirits  would  be  forever  in  com- 


A  REBUFF  291 

munion.  The  laws  which  bind  the  great  hordes  of  human 
beings,  who  have  not  entered  into  the  mysteries,  would  not 
bind  us.  We  would  be  superior  to  them."  She  looked  at 
him  without  seeing  him,  and  spoke  with  an  exalted  air  of 
abstraction.  "You  spoke  about  Mahomedanism  and  a 
harem.  Mark,  that  is  all  you  see  in  it  —  the  vulgar  show 
of  things.  The  truth  that  I  have  entered  goes  far  back  of 
all  such  modern  forms  of  expression.  It  is  the  great  central 
Truth  that  guides  ourselves,  like  the  heavenly  bodies,  in  our 
orbits,  that  I  seek.  The  formative,  indwelling  Truth,  that 
creates  and  destroys.  The  sages  among  the  Hindoos  and 
Egyptians  understood  it,  and  now  in  these  modern  days 
it  is  again  being  revealed  to  humanity  —  to  those  who  care 
to  search  for  it.  Mark,  souls  who  understand  do  not  need 
to  marry,  they  are  already  married.  Two  souls  who  come 
in  the  same  orbit,  understanding  all  Truth,  will  belong  to 
each  other  —  will  meet  inevitably  —  are  in  the  highest 
sense  married  in  that  preordained  soul  union,  without  any 
intervention  of  priestcraft  or  materially  directed  laws. 
Man  may  not  intervene  here." 

Mark  rose  and  walked  about  the  room  a  moment,  then 
he  came  back  and  stood  looking  down  at  her.  "Very  well, 
Louise,"  he  said  quietly.  "I  take  you  at  your  word.  Our 
souls  have  met  and  agreed  together  long  ago  to  be  in  — 
ahem  —  accord  —  the  same  orbit,  you  know;  now  we  '11 
just  understand,  both  of  us,  that  without  the  intervention 
of  priestcraft,  or  any  mundane  law,  we  are  married,  and— 

She  awoke  suddenly  from  her  trance.  "Mark,  you  know 
very  well  we  could  n't  do  that." 

"You  said  a  moment  ago  that  you  were  in  deadly  earnest. 
What  did  you  mean  ?  If  you  are,  you  should  be  willing  to 


292  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

stand  by  the  legitimate  and  only  result  of  your  cult.  I 
simply  take  you  at  your  word.  We  are  married,  and  we  go 
together  on  a  still  hunt  for  Truth.  There  are  places  where 
I  can  penetrate,  where  you,  being  a  woman,  and  therefore 
unclean  and  despised  among  them,  cannot.  I  can  search  out 
Truth  for  you  and  bring  it  to  you.  I  think  I  shall  find  my- 
self proof  against  their  fundamental  doctrine  that  man  is 
defiled  by  the  touch  of  woman,  so  that  he  has  to  undergo 
inconceivable  torture  as  purification  from  such  contact  — 
at  least  I  can  as  far  as  you  are  concerned ;  and  if  they  take 
me  into  their  inner  mystery  of  mysteries,  I  will  return  and 
bring  you  their  Truth  —  which  is  all  you  seem  to  care  for 
now." 

"Mark,  you  are  trying  to  be  sarcastic." 

"Not  at  all.  I  am  taking  a  sane,  practical  view  of  your 
position.  We  were  to  be  married  —  if  I  remember  rightly 
—  as  soon  as  I  reached  a  certain  point  of  success,  and  take 
a  trip  to  the  Orient  —  a  vague  term  which  may  mean  any 
point  you  please  east  of  here,  or  southeast  of  Europe. 
Now  I  am  ready,  but  you  tell  me  you  no  longer  believe  in 
marriage.  Very  well,  I  take  you  without  — 

"But,  Mark,  you  know  that  is  impossible." 

"Indeed,  no.  I  am  ready  to  go  the  whole  thing.  Many 
people  do,  but  not  for  quite  such  occult  reasons  —  possibly 
the  final  result  in  our  case  would  be  about  the  same,  but  we 
are  not  looking  at  results  —  that  is  —  not  just  now.  I  am 
looking  at  you  —  and — " 

"Mark!"  Louise  rose  majestically.  "You  know  well 
that  your  talk  is  all  nonsense  and  — 

"Not  as  far  as  I  am  concerned.  Logical  deduction  from 
yours." 


A  REBUFF  293 

"And  I  will  not  sit  here  and  listen.     Good  night." 

"Louise."  He  caught  her  hand  and  drew  her  toward 
him.  "Come  into  my  arms  and  tell  me  you  love  me. 
We  '11  call  the  whole  thing  nonsense  and  begin  again." 

A  moment  she  was  swayed  by  his  magnetic  will.  Her 
eyes  filled  with  tears,  but  she  held  herself  away  from  him. 
"You  master  me  by  force,  Mark,  and  make  me  lose  the  calm 
I  should  maintain,  but  I  have  heard  that  to-night  which 
makes  me  know  that  I  must  not  yield." 

"Come,"  he  said  impellingly. 

"I  can't,  Mark,"  she  said.  "Marriage  is  for  the  vulgar 
who  know  not  the  Truth.  For  those  who  see  light  it  is  sin." 

"Damn  !"  he  muttered  between  his  teeth.  "Louise,  stop 
that  nonsense."  He  held  out  his  arms  to  her.  "Come  — 
come  to  me." 

"Besides,  Mark,  you  have  not  yet  succeeded  —  not  as  I 
mean  you  to  succeed.  You  have  gained  a  certain  sum  of 
money,  enough  to  take  us  on  our  trip,  but  after  that  is  gone, 
then  what  ?  My  artist  must  be  a  god  among  artists.  You 
know  I  have  perfect  faith  hi  you,  Mark ;  but  you  have  n't 
done  it.  You  have  it  in  you  to  succeed,  and  until  then  I 
would  only  be  a  drag  on  you  —  with  my  tastes." 

He  took  one  swift  stride  toward  her  and  caught  her  to  him, 
then  pushed  her  almost  roughly  away.  "Good  night  — 
and  good-bye.  I  shall  be  gone  before  you  are  up  in  the 
morning." 

"Mark,  if  you  only  could  understand,"  she  said  pleadingly. 
"Good  night." 


CHAPTER  XIX 

RENEWED  ASPIRATIONS 

That  man  who  trusts  himself, 

Who,  from  the  wide  world's  wide 

Indifference  and  boasting,  turns  aside  — 

Holds  to  a  worthy  purpose  with  a  pride 

Born  of  a  strong,  fierce  aspiration,  bold 

In  his  own  might  and  in  his  spirit's  right : 

He  draws  a  shaft  from  God,  and  in  his  hold 

Gathers  the  reins  that  guide  men's  destinies  : 

That  man  hath  greatness  —  on  a  height 

He  stands,  above  the  plain,  and  so  much  nearer  God. 

MARK  was  up  and  away  in  the  cold  winter  dawn  of  the 
following  day,  leaving  a  note  to  be  handed  to  his  aunt  at 
breakfast,  begging  her  forgiveness  for  his  abrupt  departure. 

He  sought  out  a  restaurant,  where  he  hastily  swallowed  a 
cup  of  coffee  and  devoured  a  crusty  roll,  and  then  repaired 
to  his  work  in  the  Mervain  Thompson  music  room.  The 
house  was  in  the  hands  of  the  decorators,  and  the  rooms  were 
cold,  with  a  deadly  chill,  for  the  janitor  had  overslept. 
The  workmen  were  just  filing  in  and  were  donning  their 
smeared  blouses. 

Mark  was  too  depressed  to  trust  himself  before  his  own 
walls.  He  might  do  something  he  would  afterwards  regret. 
There  were  times  when,  possessed  by  these  morbid  thoughts, 
everything  appeared  to  him  worthless  and  distorted.  He 
had  been  known  to  destroy  his  best  work,  over  which  he 
had  labored  for  weeks,  in  such  a  moment.  Now  as  he  wan- 

294 


RENEWED  ASPIRATIONS  295 

dered  from  room  to  room,  viewing  the  work  going  on  around 
him,  critically,  with  drawn  and  gloomy  brow,  the  con- 
tractor approached  him. 

"Have  you  seen  the  library  ? "  he  asked.  "  We  are  doing 
it  in  red  and  gold.  Thompson's  idea." 

Mark  turned  and  followed  him  silently  into  the  library, 
which  was  nearly  finished.  "Ah,  very  good,"  he  said, 
doubtfully.  "What  is  he  going  to  do  with  the  wall  spaces 
over  the  shelves?" 

"Oh,  they  '11  be  filled  with  pictures,  old  copper  plates  and 
the  like,  and  on  the  top  there  will  be  bric-a-brac,  of  course  — 
busts  and  bronzes." 

"Yes,  yes.  Quite  the  thing."  Mark  turned  and  saun- 
tered out,  with  his  hands  in  his  coat  pockets,  from  which 
still  protruded  his  bundle  of  rag-enwrapped  paint  brushes. 

"That 's  a  fine  piece  of  work  you  have  done  in  the  music 
room,"  the  contractor  called  after  him. 

"Thank  you.  Can't  say  —  I  have  n't  seen  it  this  morn- 
ing." 

"Must  have  had  a  bad  night,"  said  the  contractor,  laugh- 
ingly, to  one  of  the  painters. 

"Like  as  not.  He  was  still  in  there  when  we  left  —  too 
dark  to  see  —  may  have  been  there  all  night,  for  all  we  know." 

However,  the  kindly  word  of  the  contractor  helped  to 
break  the  spell  of  bitterness  that  submerged  him,  and  he 
returned  to  his  work  in  a  fairly  reasonable  frame  of  mind. 
He  climbed  the  scaffolding  and  seated  himself  before  the 
figure  of  Elizabeth  awaiting  the  return  of  the  pilgrims. 
There  he  sat  on  the  rough  plank,  gazing  at  his  walls  and 
kicking  his  heels  together ;  gazing,  but  not  seeing.  Instead 
of  the  brown-coated  pilgrims,  their  faces  lighted  by  the  torch 


2o6  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

glare,  winding  in  solemn  procession,  in  the  mirk  of  evening, 
down  the  rough  mountain  road,  he  saw  a  somber  stretch 
of  woods  curving  to  the  sea ;  and  instead  of  a  rugged  castle 
towering  dark  against  an  evening  sky,  he  saw  a  yellow  cottage 
with  green  blinds,  nestled  under  giant  silver-leaf  poplars 
and  swaying  locust  trees  that  stood  out  dark  in  a  golden 
light.  And  instead  of  Elizabeth  standing  luminously  white, 
shading  her  taper  and  waiting  with  great  expectant  eyes,  he 
saw  a  small  maid  enveloped  in  iridescent,  mistlike  draperies, 
with  a  wonderful  mass  of  shining  hair  tossed  by  the  wind. 

"Hello !  Come  down  from  that  scaffolding  before  you 
touch  my  walls  again, "  shouted  a  jovial  voice  below  him. 
It  was  Mervain  Thompson  himself,  a  genial,  small  man  with 
a  large  head. 

Mark  swung  himself  over  and,  hanging  by  his  hands, 
dropped  to  the  floor  below.  The  sad  lines  were  chased 
from  his  face  by  his  characteristic  smile  as  he  shook  the 
proprietor's  hand.  "You  like  it?"  he  asked. 

"I  like  it  so  well  that  I  am  going  to  have  that  scaffolding 
down  before  you  have  a  chance  to  spoil  it.  I  know  you.  You 
are  one  of  the  kind  that  are  never  satisfied.  You  don't  know 
your  best  work.  You  get  a  thing  right,  and  then  you  keep 
tinkering  at  it  until  you  ruin  it.  Stevens  was  telling  me  — 

"Yes,  I  know  —  said  I  spoiled  one  of  his  panels." 

"Oh,  not  spoiled  exactly  —  said  you  came  near  doing 
so,  fooling  with  it." 

"Ah,  yes.  He  cautioned  you  about  this,  no  doubt." 
Mark  laughed  immoderately. 

"Have  you  seen  my  library  ? " 

"I  looked  in  there  just  now." 

"Do  you  like  it?" 


RENEWED  ASPIRATIONS  297 

"Yes,  yes.    Very  well." 

"I  want  one  room  in  the  house  purely  typical.  I  want 
only  American  art,  but  I  want  it  art,  you  understand,  that 
will  be  recognized  as  such  by  those  who  know  the  best.  I 
don't  care  for  a  renaissance  treatment  —  it  may  be  classic 
—  but  —  have  n't  we  in  America  an  art  of  our  own  ?  " 

"Hardly  —  yet.  True  art  is  an  intrinsic  thing.  It  has 
no  nationality,  any  more  than  truth  has.  Art  should  stand 
alone  —  and  yet  —  it  is  a  hobby  of  mine  that  we  should 
copy  less,  ape  foreign  conceptions  less,  and  develop  here  an 
art  as  purely  true  as  the  world  knows.  We  have  done  so  in 
literature  —  why  may  we  not  in  painting  and  building  ?  " 

The  two  men  paced  in  silence  for  a  few  moments,  and 
Thompson  led  the  way  back  to  the  red  and  gold  library. 

"What  shall  I  do  with  these  walls?" 

"What  do  you  wish  to  do  with  them  ?  You  should  have 
some  spaces  left  for  various  works  of  art." 

"That  falls  in  with  my  thought,  and  still,  I  would  like  to 
have  something  quite  our  own  here.  I  want  you  to  make  me 
a  painting — a  large  one,  filling  this  whole  space — not  merely 
a  waU  decoration,  you  understand.  Take  any  subject  you 
please,  only  let  it  belong  to  us." 

Mark's  face  radiated  its  pleasure.  "I  see.  If  you  give 
me  this  to  do,  it  will  be  the  realization  of  one  of  the  aspira- 
tions of  my  life.  It  will  make  definite  that  which  has  been 
heretofore  only  a  dream  of  mine,  that  I  may  help,  may 
possibly  even  have  a  leading  part  in  bringing  about  a  chiliad 
of  art  here  in  America." 

Mervain  Thompson  stood  with  feet  planted  a  little  apart, 
looking  up  in  Mark's  face.  "A  what?"  he  said,  lifting  his 
brows. 


298  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

"The  Greeks  had  theirs'  the  Romans  theirs  —  I  love 
broad  fields  to  work  in.  The  very  barrenness  and  immen- 
sity of  America  is  inspiring.  Ours  is  yet  to  come  —  it  is 
coming.  May  it  last  forever!" 

"My  notion  of  your  chiliad  business  is  very  vague,  but 
go  ahead.  What  I  want  is  an  artistic  effect  here." 

Mark  looked  slowly  about  the  room.  "  A  gathering  of 
the  perfections  of  all  periods  —  a  millennium  of  art  in  Amer- 
ica. We  have  here  the  gathering  together  of  all  peoples 
on  earth.  Each  element  has  a  right  to  the  best  of  its 
own  art.  This  is  what  America  means  to  me  as  an  art  field, 
to  develop  in  our  midst,  from  the  best  of  past  ages  and 
dying  nations,  a  new,  a  grand  renaissance.  Oh,  stupen- 
dous !  To  incorporate  our  own  conceptions  —  to  create  — 
to  bring  the  best,  the  purest  art  rays  of  all  the  world,  of  all 
time,  here  to  a  focus  in  a  brilliant,  pure,  white  light  of  abso- 
lute, creative  art.  Majestic !  so  that  it  will  rise  to  the 
height  of  being  a  little  lower  than  the  works  of  the  Almighty, 
even  as  man  was  'created  a  little  lower  than  the  angels.' ' 

Mervain  Thompson  walked  about  a  moment,  then  stood 
with  his  back  to  Mark,  looking  down  the  street.  "Very 
well,"  he  said  at  last,  "to  come  down  to  the  practical 
question  of  the  moment  —  what  will  you  do  to  begin 
with?" 

"I  will  begin  with  the  supreme  moment  of  a  human  soul. 
I  will  paint  the  trial  scene  in  the  'Scarlet  Letter.'" 

"That's  good  —  American,  too." 

"Purely,  typically  so." 

Thompson  held  out  his  hand.  "Settled,"  he  said. 
"Take  your  own  time  to  it,  but,  you  understand,  strike 
while  your  conception  is  hot." 


RENEWED  ASPIRATIONS  299 

"Indeed,  yes,  yes.  You  are  undoubtedly  right."  Mark 
walked  slowly  about  the  room,  feeling  of  the  bundle  of 
brushes  in  his  pocket.  He  was  already  making  out  his 
color  scheme.  "Good-bye,"  he  said,  at  last,  and  abruptly 
walked  out  of  the  house  and  down  the  street,  without  going 
again  to  his  beloved  music  room. 

That  room  closed  a  period  of  his  past.  He  had  hoped  to 
win  Louise  with  it.  Now  it  was  done  and  she  had  never 
seen  it  —  she  who  had  inspired  it.  Hereafter  he  .would 
create  for  humanity.  One  hope  was  gone  —  he  would 
rise  to  another.  Yet  he  moved  heavily  and  sadly.  With- 
out the  love  of  a  woman  to  strengthen  his  soul,  where  was 
he  ?  And  still,  had  he  ever  had  that  love  —  that  supreme 
love,  or  had  he  only  dreamed  he  had  it  and  been  satisfied 
with  his  dream  ?  Perhaps  —  sometime,  the  real  thing 
might  come  to  him,  and  then  —  then  he  would  be  ready. 
How  he  would  create  for  the  sake  of  a  pure  art  in  his  own 
country  —  for  the  sake  of  a  glorious  conception.  He  would 
lock  forever  the  door  of  that  empty  chamber  of  his  heart, 
and  work,  work  and  forget  that  his  hope  had  ever  been. 

He  entered  a  book  shop  and  purchased  a  small  copy  of 
"The  Scarlet  Letter,"  and  then  betook  himself  to  the  inner 
room  of  a  quiet  little  restaurant,  and  ordered  wine  and  beef- 
steak. It  was  already  noon,  and  he  was  suffering  the 
exhaustion  engendered  by  excess  of  emotion  and  the  lack 
of  food ;  for  the  day  before  he  had  painted  in  delighted 
anticipation,  forgetting  to  eat,  and  since  then  he  had  neither 
slept  nor  eaten  enough  to  keep  a  normal  balance  between 
body  and  spirit.  Now  he  put  the  past  resolutely  away. 
He  filled  his  pipe,  and  leaning  back  against  the  wall  behind 
him,  began  reading  his  book. 


CHAPTER  XX 

JOYFUL  FINDS  A  PROTECTOR 

"  Over  the  ball  of  it, 

Peering  and  prying, 
How  I  see  all  of  it, 

Life  there,  out  lying  ! 
Roughness  and  smoothness, 

Shine  and  defilement, 
Grace  and  uncouthness, 

One  reconcilement." 

—  ROBERT  BROWNING,  Pisgah  Sig hts. 

IT  was  three  in  the  afternoon.  Marie  Vaile,  clad  in  a 
rose  and  white  negligee  was  sipping  coffee  and  listening  to 
Joyf ul's  guitar.  Her  face  was  pale,  and  her  eyes  were 
heavy  and  sad,  but  unnaturally  lustrous.  When  Joyful 
entered  her  room  that  morning  she  found  her  still  dressed 
as  she  had  been  the  evening  before,  lying  across  her  bed  with 
face  red  and  swollen,  breathing  heavily. 

Joyful  thought  her  very  ill,  perhaps  dying,  and  filled 
with  fear  and  awe,  she  bent  over  her  and  touched  her  hair 
with  trembling  fingers,  and  kissed  her  fevered  cheek,  trying 
to  arouse  her.  She  hoped  to  avoid  calling  Madame  La 
Grande,  dreading  the  sight  of  her  impassive  face. 

"Oh,  what  can  I  do,  what  can  I  do !"  she  cried,  seating 
herself  on  the  side  of  the  bed,  and  wringing  her  hands. 
"Marie,  beautiful  Marie,  look  at  me,  speak  to  me!  Are 
you  ill?" 

300 


JOYFUL  FINDS  A  PROTECTOR     301 

She  moved  about  the  room  with  limbs  that  ached  and 
trembled  from  the  horror  that  filled  her.  Mechanically  she 
took  note  of  everything.  A  cupboard  stood  half  open,  and 
she  looked  in  on  what  appeared  to  be  a  miniature  phar- 
macy, so  filled  was  it  with  lotions  and  phials.  She  picked 
up  the  check  Scott  Stevens  had  laid  on  the  table  the  even- 
ing before,  and  took  cognizance  of  his  signature,  without 
realizing  what  she  was  doing.  In  her  frightened  and 
unnaturally  acute  consciousness  everything  in  the  room, 
to  the  smallest  detail,  seemed  to  burn  itself  into  her  brain 
as  if  branded  there  with  irons. 

She  returned  to  the  bed  and  knelt  sobbing  at  the  side, 
taking  Marie's  heavy  head  on  her  bosom  and  stroking  her 
face  and  neck  with  gentle  touch.  "Oh,  Marie,  what  is  it? 
Look  at  me,  Marie  —  open  your  eyes,  beautiful  Marie!" 

And  Marie  awoke.  Slowly  the  heavy  eyelids  lifted,  but 
she  lay  still,  and  Joyful  continued  her  tender  caressing 
touch,  begging  her  to  tell  her  what  she  could  do  for  her. 
There  was  a  rap  at  the  door,  and  as  no  response  was  made, 
Madame  La  Grande  opened  it  and  thrust  her  head  in,  then 
entered  and  stood  a  moment  in  silent  stoicism,  looking  down 
on  them. 

Joyful  raised  imploring,  tearful  eyes  to  her  face,  but  said 
nothing,  and  the  woman  looked  about  the  disordered  room. 
Then  she  shut  the  cupboard,  and  turned  the  key  in  the  lock. 

"You  need  n't  trouble  yourself  about  her,"  she  said 
quietly.  "She 's  had  too  much.  She  '11  come  around  soon. 
She 's  always  doing  it  lately,  and  she 's  losing  her  good  looks 
very  rapidly.  She  '11  have  nothing  to  live  on  then,  if  she 
does  n't  look  out." 

Her  eyes  roved  constantly  about  the  room  as  if  taking  an 


302  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

inventory  of  its  contents.  Suddenly  they  seemed  to  grow 
smaller,  gleaming  like  points  of  light.  They  had  rested  on 
the  bank  check.  She  turned  her  back  on  it,  however,  and 
looked  again  at  Marie,  who  had  raised  her  head  and  was 
gazing  at  her. 

"Are  you  feeling  better  ?  I  '11  send  you  up  some  coffee." 
The  woman  spoke  in  a  low  voice,  and  took  a  step  nearer  the 
bed,  when  Marie  suddenly  flung  out  her  arms  to  ward  her 
off. 

"Go  back,  go  back,"  she  shrieked.  "Go  back  to  your 
own  vermin.  You  have  n't  got  your  hands  on  me  yet,  you 
she-devil."  She  struggled  to  her  feet  and,  tottering  for- 
ward, struck  violently  at  the  woman,  screaming  impreca- 
tions like  one  possessed  of  a  demon.  "Curse  you!  You 
have  n't  got  your  hands  on  me  yet.  You  think  you  '11  save 
my  face  to  fill  your  purse?  Curse  you  to  hell !" 

Joyful  shrank  back,  cowering  in  a  corner,  and  the  woman 
went  softly  out,  shutting  the  door  upon  the  two.  She  had 
seen  the  bank  check,  and  that  it  was  for  five  figures,  not  for 
three,  nor  four;  also  she  had  seen  the  signature.  "Little 
fool,"  she  muttered,  as  she  walked  away. 

Marie  threw  herself  again  on  the  bed  and  lay  there  prone, 
clutching  the  pillows,  shaking  and  sobbing,  and  hiding  her 
face.  Then  Joyful  drew  near  and  knel  t  as  before,  and  held 
her  head  on  her  breast.  Marie  tried  to  push  her  away, 
but  her  strength  was  gone.  Joyful  felt  suddenly  —  as  she 
saw  the  other's  weakness  —  her  own  heart  grow  strong 
within  her.  She  soothed  and  petted  Marie  as  if  she  were 
a  child,  and  held  her  close  in  her  arms. 

"Don't,  don't,  Marie.  I  love  you.  What  is  it?  What 
have  you  done?" 


JOYFUL  FINDS  A  PROTECTOR     303 

"You  mustn't  touch  me,  child.  I  can't  let  you  touch 
me—  '  yet  she  clung  to  Joyful  even  as  she  spoke.  "I 
am  hideous  !  horrible  !  You  must  go  away  from  here  and 
leave  me  to  die.  I  must  die  —  I  will  not  let  her  get  her 
talons  on  me.  I  will  die,"  she  cried,  shivering,  moaning, 
and  weeping. 

"No,  you  are  not  to  die.     I  am  here  with  you,  Marie." 

The  girl  started  up  and  pushed  Joyful  from  her.  She 
went  to  the  cupboard  and  poured  herself  something  in  a 
tiny  glass  and  drank  it  off ;  then  she  sat  in  the  large  chair 
and  leaning  back,  closed  her  eyes.  "I  seem  to  smell 
tuberoses,"  she  said. 

Joyful  looked  about.     "There  are  none  here,"  she  said. 

"  Yes,  but  there  was  one  here  last  evening.  It  is  that  I 
remember." 

Joyful  thought  her  mind  wandering.  Presently  she 
opened  her  eyes  and  gazed  at  Joyful.  She  had  grown 
suddenly  sane  and  quiet.  "Yes,  you  are  here,  as  you  said, 
poor  little  thing.  That  is  the  pity  of  it.  I  can't  die  yet  — 
I  must  get  you  away  from  here  first,  or  else  —  Come  here, 
little  pink,  wild  rose,  sit  by  me.  Snuggle  up,  so." 

"Or  else  what,  Marie?" 

The  slender,  beautiful  arms  closed  around  the  girl'  as 
they  had  the  evening  before,  and  Joyful  felt  abashed  at 
their  touch.  "Or  else  I  must  kill  you  first  and  then  die." 

"Marie,  Marie,  don't  talk  like  that.     It  is  terrible  — 
even  if  you  don't  mean  it." 

"  Child,  I  do.  When  you  came  in  last  night,  it  seemed  as 
if  I  could  devour  you,  I  was  so  glad  just  to  touch  you.  I 
knew  what  you  were  —  I  knew,  darling  —  now,  listen.  I 
would  rather  hold  you  in  my  arms  dead,  than  see  you  in 


304  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

that  woman's  power ;  and  I  swear  to  you  —  I  swear  to 
God,  I  will,  if  I  can't  get  you  away." 

"But  why  need  you  say  such  things?  I  can  go  away,  if 
I  ought  not  to  stay  here.  You  have  n't  told  me  yet  what 
the  matter  is  with  this  place,  and  everything  seems  very 
grand." 

But  to  this  remark  Marie  gave  no  heed.  She  was  staring 
straight  before  her,  planning,  scheming. 

Joyful  rose  and  touched  the  bell  as  she  had  seen  Marie 
do  the  evening  before.  "I  have  rung  for  that  boy  in  the 
green  suit  to  come  and  bring  your  breakfast.  You  have  n't 
eaten  anything,  and  neither  have  I.  When  you  have  eaten, 
you  will  feel  better  and  won't  talk  about  dying.  Why 
can't  we  go  away  together  ?  I  have  a  little  money,  and  I 
can  soon  find  something  to  do.  I  found  this  place  right 
away."  She  rose  and  entered  her  own  room  as  she  spoke, 
and  Marie  looked  after  her  with  a  bitter  smile. 

"Certainly,"  she  said,  under  her  breath,  "this  is  a  place 
that  is  open  to  a  woman  when  nothing  else  is."  Then  she 
bathed  her  face,  and  Joyful  helped  her  don  the  beautiful 
rose-colored  gown,  heavy  with  lace,  and  let  down  her  rich, 
shining  hair  and  brushed  it.  When  breakfast  was  brought 
them  Marie  ate  little,  but  took  her  coffee,  and  the  day 
slipped  away.  Languid  and  pale,  she  lay  back  among 
her  pillows,  while  Joyful  read  to  her  from  a  volume  of 
Browning's  poems,  richly  bound  in  red  and  gold,  which  she 
found  on  Marie's  table.  A  maid  came  and  set  tbe  room  to 
rights,  and  Marie  sent  for  wine,  but  drank  of  it  sparingly. 
She  said  her  head  ached  still,  and  she  must  have  it.  Joyful 
watched  her  sadly. 

"I  wish  I  could  do  something  to  make  you  happy, 


JOYFUL  FINDS  A  PROTECTOR     305 

Marie,"  she  said,  at  last.  "Would  you  like  me  to  bring 
my  guitar  and  sing  to  you?" 

"Oh,  yes.  Sing,  sing!  I  didn't  know  you  could  sing. 
To-morrow  I  shall  be  better,  and  we  will  go  somewhere 
together,  you  and  I;  we  will  be  happy  somewhere,  but 
Madame  La  Grande  must  get  no  hint  of  it."  She  took  the 
bank  check  and  put  it  carefully  away.  "I  was  going  to 
destroy  this,  but  now,  for  your  sake  I  will  not.  My  sin 
may  save  you,  little  pink  rose." 

Joyful  went  away,  wondering  at  the  things  she  said,  and 
returned  with  her  guitar,  in  its  quaint  old  case.  Then  she 
sang  for  Marie  the  beautiful  songs  of  Schubert  Elizabeth 
had  taught  her.  Thus  they  were  sitting,  when  a  card  was 
brought  to  Marie.  She  looked  at  it  closely,  turning  it  over 
and  over.  "New  York!"  she  murmured.  "Who  can  it 
be?"  while  Joyful  sang  on,  and  some  one  standing  wait- 
ing in  the  hall  below  heard  the  voice  faintly  and,  closing 
his  eyes  a  moment,  saw  with  inner  vision  green  woods  and 
a  cottage  and  blue  sea  beyond. 

Marie  thrust  the  card  in  her  dress.  "I  must  go  down," 
she  said.  "Quick;  help  me  to  get  into  something  else." 
Then  Joyful  helped  her,  and  Marie,  quite  restored  and 
beautiful  to  look  upon,  left  her.  "Turn  the  key  in  the  lock 
and  stay  here  until  I  return,  dear  child.  If  she  comes,  don't 
let  her  in,  and  don't  even  speak.  I  '11  be  back  immediately." 

Wondering,  and  feeling  as  if  she  were  imprisoned,  Joyful 
obeyed  her.  She  sat  for  a  while  pondering,  with  her  head 
bowed  in  her  hands.  Where  was  she  ?  Why  must  she  keep 
silent  ?  Ah  !  there  was  something  quite  wrong  here,  lovely 
as  everything  seemed  to  be.  She  would  go  away  and 
find  some  other  place  to  teach.  She  heard  a  knocking  at 


3o6  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

the  door  of  her  own  room.  That  must  be  Madame  La 
Grande.  Her  heart  stood  still.  Should  she  go  in  there 
and  open  the  door  ?  Should  she  obey  Marie,  or  not  ?  Only 
a  moment  she  hesitated,  then  she  locked  the  door  between 
the  two  rooms,  and  remained  where  she  was,  silent  and  pale. 
But  why  should  she  fear?  she  asked  herself.  What  had 
she  done  that  was  wrong,  or  Madame  La  Grande,  either  ? 
Surely  the  woman  had  been  kind.  Then  Joyful  heard  her 
enter  the  room  and  move  softly  about,  but  she  did  not  stir. 
She  felt  a  tremor  of  intense  dislike  creep  over  her,  and 
sank  down  in  the  great  chair,  as  if  she  would  hide  herself; 
yet  she  was  ashamed  of  her  fear. 

Then  the  woman  went  away,  and  Joyful  heard  her  low 
voice  presently  in  conversation  with  Marie.  With  a  sigh 
of  relief  she  returned  to  the  copy  of  Browning,  and  was 
soon  lost  in  the  poem  of  "Saul,"  oblivious  of  the  fact  that 
in  the  hall  outside  the  door  her  fate  was  being  fought  for 
and  decided. 

"I  tell  you  it  is  impossible.  You  are  very  clever,  but  you 
can  never  change  her;  you  can  only  kill  her." 

"Hush,"  said  Madame,  "  she  will  hear  you.  You  need 
not  be  so  excited.  She  must  live,  and  I  give  her  the  chance. 
Let  me  in.  You  have  no  right  to  her." 

Suddenly  Marie  became  outwardly  more  calm.  Her 
eyes  blazed,  but  she  laughed  and  lifted  her  shoulders. 
"Very  well,  I  must  live  too,  and  you  would  better  believe 
me ;  I  know  I  can  do  in  this  case  what  you  cannot.  Listen. 
To-morrow  I  will  take  her  out  and  buy  her  lovely  things  — 
I  have  the  check  here,  you  need  n't  be  afraid  —  and  I  will 
make  her  eyes  shine  —  you  will  see.  I  will  have  her  com- 
pletely under  my  control  in  two  weeks,  and  until  I  do  you 


JOYFUL  FINDS  A  PROTECTOR     307 

will  be  able  to  do  nothing  with  her.  I  know  the  type 
better  than  you  do." 

Madame's  eyes  drew  together  in  two  dark  points.  "I 
have  use  for  her  and  you  have  not.  Let  me  pass." 

"Haven't  I  a  use  for  her?  You  will  see.  I'll  make  a 
bargain  with  you.  In  two  weeks'  time  I  agree  to  cure  her 
of  all  whims  and  turn  her  over  to  you  an  ideal  little  devil. 
If  I  can't  do  this,  I  will  put  a  check  for  one  thousand  dollars 
in  your  hands.  If  I  can  do  it,  you  must  give  me  that  amount. 
I  need  the  money  and  I  can  earn  it,  but  you  —  you  could 
no  more  deal  with  her  than  you  could  get  into  heaven. 
She 's  afraid  of  you  now.  I  can  see  it." 

"You  put  your  price  too  high.  We'll  say  half  that 
amount  for  my  part ;  for  yours,  let  it  stand,  a  check  for  a 
thousand,  if  you  fail  me.  I  have  the  first  right.  I  found 
her."  She  turned  away. 

"Wait,"  cried  Marie.  "You  must  not  speak  to  her,  nor 
have  anything  to  do  with  her,  nor  allow  any  one  else  to 
meddle  with  her  during  that  time.  Remember,  you 
forfeit  the  whole,  if  you  interfere.  Is  it  a  bargain?" 

"Have  it  your  own  way." 

"I  say,  is  it  a  bargain?" 

"Yes,  but  there  is  to  be  no  play  about  it." 

"Then  don't  let  me  see  you  in  this  upper  hall  near  my 
door  again  —  or—  Marie  stepped  forward  and  hissed 
something  in  Madame  La  Grande's  ear,  and  the  woman 
turned  away. 

"I  know  what  I  'm  talking  about.  Nan  told  me  enough 
to  put  me  on  your  track.  You  want  this  one  to  fill  that 
girl's  place,  and—  But  Madame  La  Grande  continued 
her  quiet  way  without  a  backward  glance,  and  Marie  stood 


308  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

alone,  gazing  after  her  with  flashing  eyes.  A  smile  of  con- 
tempt disfigured  her  beautiful  face.  "Yes,  you  '11  have  her, 
will  you  ?  "  she  whispered,  and  flew  back  to  her  own  apart- 
ment. "Let  me  in,  let  me  in,  little  pink  rose;  it  is  Marie." 
And  Joyful  awoke  from  her  dream  of  the  beautiful  young 
David  and  the  crazed  old  king,  and  unlocked  the  door  with 
shaking  fingers. 

"You  are  trembling,  little  one,"  said  Marie,  tenderly. 
She  caught  her  and  whirled  her  about  the  room  joyously. 
"Something  is  going  to  happen,  something  good.  Listen." 
She  wrapped  her  arms  about  her  and  whispered  in  her  ear. 
"We  are  going  away  from  here  to  live  together  in  some 
sweet,  quiet  place.  We  are  going  to  be  happy  together. 
Hush,  don't  speak.  We  must  say  nothing  —  nothing, 
dear,  or  she  will  hear  of  it  and  devise  some  way  of  keeping 
us.  I  know  her,  you  see,  sweetest.  Sit  down  here  and  I  '11 
tell  you  all  about  it.  She  never  meant  you  to  teach  French 
here  at  all.  She  sees  that  you  can  be  made  very  beautiful, 
child  —  and  —  she  —  wants  you  for  an  attraction." 

"An  attraction  for  what?"  Joyful  raised  her  head  and 
looked  searchingly  in  Marie's  eyes,  and  Marie  turned  her 
head  away. 

"Never  mind  now,  little  pink  rose.  Just  trust  me,  will 
you  ?  Some  day  I  can  explain  to  you  all  about  it,  but  now 
we  have  n't  time.  There  are  things  to  be  done,  and  they 
must  be  done  immediately.  You  must  quietly  pack  all  your 
clothing.  Don't  let  any  one  enter  your  room.  We  '11 
cram  the  keyhole  full  of  paper  so  she  can't  get  in  with  her 
pass  key,  and  we  will  go  out  through  my  suite.  Then 
to-morrow,  to-morrow,  dear.  I  told  her  I  would  take  you 
out  and  buy  you  beautiful  clothes  and  jewels  to  make  you 


JOYFUL  FINDS  A  PROTECTOR     309 

lovely  for — for  her  —  to —  But  I  lied  to  her.  We  will 
do  no  such  thing.  I  lied.  She  was  to  have  paid  me  for 
doing  this  thing  for  her,  but  I  lied  to  her  bravely.  Yes,  I 
did,  I  did!"  Marie  was  growing  rapidly  more  excited, 
and  Joyful  touched  her  cheek  with  gentle,  caressing  hand. 

"Don't,  Marie,  don't!  It  breaks  my  heart,  Marie. 
Something  makes  me  feel  that  there  is  some  horrible  thing 
the  matter  here,  some  horrible  thing.  Oh,  Marie,  Marie  !" 
She  broke  down  in  a  passion  of  weeping  and  slid  to  her 
knees  as  she  used  to  kneel  at  her  mother's  side.  "Marie, 
let  us  pray  to  God  about  it." 

Marie  put  her  hand  to  her  throat  as  if  she  were  choking. 
She  grew  suddenly  cold,  and  shivered  as  with  an  ague. 
"I  can't,  I  can't,"  she  cried.  "There  is  no  God  to  hear  me. 
Get  up  quick.  We  must  work.  There,  there,  stop  crying, 
sweet,  stop.  Everything  will  come  right;  I  will  take  care 
of  you.  I  have  only  sold  my  beauty  this  time,  not  my  soul. 
—  My  God  !  I  sold  that  long  ago." 

Joyful  rose  and  drew  herself  to  her  full  height,  horrified 
at  Marie's  words,  and  amazed  at  her  incoherence.  "Why 
do  you  say  there  is  no  God  to  hear  you,  and  then  cry  out 
'  My  God '  ?  What  do  you  mean  by  '  selling  your  beauty '  ?  " 
she  said,  with  quivering  lips,  and  turned  to  go  into  her  own 
room. 

"Don't  leave  me.  Come  back  to  me,  child.  There,  it 
is  nothing  but  wild  talk.  You  may  pray  all  you  wish,  in 
your  own  room,  dear,  not  here.  There  is  n't  any  God,  any- 
way, or  if  there  is  He  won't  listen  to  you  here.  No,  wait, 
wait !  I  don't  know  what  I  am  saying  I  am  so  wild  to  get 
away,  and  —  the  thoughts  you  bring  to  me  make  me  crazy, 
but  it  will  pass.  See,  child,  I  am  myself  now."  She  took 


310  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

Joyful  again  tenderly  in  her  arms  and  dried  her  tears  with 
her  own  handkerchief.  "Listen.  We  will  talk  quietly 
together  and  plan.  I  will  put  everything  I  have  in  my 
trunks  and  lock  them  to-day,  and  you  must  do  the  same. 
Then  to-morrow  we  will  go  out  together,  and  never  come 
back,  never,  never.  I  will  begin  a  sweet  new  life  with  you. 
I  have  something  I  can  do  now ;  some  one  is  coming  to  see 
me  about  it  this  evening ;  I  made  the  arrangement  just  now 
when  I  was  called  downstairs.  You  must  do  just  as  I  tell 
you.  Don't  be  afraid,  little  one,  because  I  talked  so  wildly. 
I  have  hated  so  long,  and  I  can  love  so  hard,  that  between 
the  two  I  am  torn  in  pieces.  We  '11  leave  the  hatred  behind, 
and  if  I  have  you  I  can  take  the  love  with  me,  can't  I  ?  " 

"Yes,  Marie,  yes.     I  can  love  hard,  too." 

Then  Joyful  went  to  her  own  room,  and  Marie  stood 
before  her  mirror  and  examined  her  face  and  figure  care- 
fully. "Yes,  I  am  still  beautiful,"  she  murmured.  "I 
will  serve  his  purpose,  and  this  time  —  Ah,  there  is  no 
buoyancy  of  love  to  lead  me  on  this  time,  but — I  sell  only 
my  beauty,  not  my  soul."  Then  she  threw  up  her  arms  and 
sank  to  the  floor,  a  cowering  heap,  crushed  by  the  memories 
that  surged  in  her  heart.  "  God,  God  !  She  wanted  me 
to  pray!  She  wanted  me  to  pray  —  me!" 

When  she  arose,  exhausted  with  emotion,  she  went  to  her 
cupboard  and  her  beautiful,  slender  fingers  trembled  on  the 
fastening.  She  turned  away  and  paced  the  room,  but  her 
knees  failed  her,  and  she  went  back  and  opened  the  door. 

"I  will  take  only  enough  to  keep  me  up  for  this  work," 
she  said.  "I  can't  trust  the  maid;  I  must  do  it  alone." 


CHAPTER  XXI 

A  MODERN  KNIGHT 

"  I  was  caught 

So  suddenly,  that  I  ne'er  took 
Counsel  of  aught  but  of  her  look, 
And  of  my  heart :  for  her  kind  eyes 
So  gladly  on  my  heart  did  rise, 
That  instantly  my  inmost  thought 
Said  it  were  better  serve  her  for  nought 
Than  with  another  to  be  well." 

L>H  AUCER. 

FOR  two  hours  Joyful  worked  busily  in  her  own  room. 
She  heard  Marie  moving  about,  and  hurried  her  own  simple 
preparations  that  she  might  assist  her,  but  the  sounds 
gradually  ceased,  and  when  at  last  she  knocked  at  Marie's 
door  there  was  no  response.  She  waited  until  long  past 
the  dinner  hour,  and  as  still  no  answer  came  to  her  gentle 
knocking,  she  pushed  the  door  open,  and  then  uttered  a  low 
cry  of  dismay.  The  bed  was  heaped  with  beautiful  gowns, 
tables  and  stands  were  covered  with  gloves  and  fancy 
articles  and  jewels,  a  large  trunk  stood  open,  partly  filled, 
and  about  it  on  the  floor  were  strewn  slippers  and  boxes, 
shoes  and  laces,  and  in  the  midst  of  the  debris,  stretched  on 
the  floor,  lay  Marie  in  the  same  heavy  stupor  in  which  Joyful 
had  found  her  in  the  morning.  The  air  of  the  place  was 
close,  and  reeked  with  the  fumes  of  liquor. 

Unknown  as  such  sights  were  to  Joyful  in  her  heretofore 

311 


312  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

idyllic  existence,  she  recognized  now  that  the  creature  lying 
at  her  feet  was  a  drunken  woman.  Indeed,  she  had  never 
realized  before  that  a  woman  could  be  drunken,  and  her 
whole  being  quivered  with  horror;  yet,  overriding  her 
horror  and,  in  a  measure,  calming  her  spirit,  was  a  master- 
ing emotion  of  pity.  A  large  and  womanly  grace  entered 
into  her  child's  soul.  She  was  never  a  child  again. 

She  looked  about  for  something  to  do.  On  a  table  near 
the  door  stood  the  dinner  long  since  served  for  two,  now 
cold  and  unappetizing.  She  remembered  how  Madame 
that  morning  had  offered  to  send  up  coffee  for  Marie,  so 
now  she  poured  a  cup  strong  and  black,  and  kneeling,  tried 
to  rouse  her  to  drink  it,  putting  her  arm  gently  under  the 
inert  head  which  rolled  from  side  to  side.  She  could  do 
nothing.  Then  she  sat  beside  her  on  the  floor  and  wept, 
and  again,  with  tears  dropping  on  Marie's  face,  tried  to 
make  her  take  the  coffee. 

At  last  she  rose,  and  with  set  lips  endeavored  to  bring 
order  out  of  the  chaos  around  her,  but  the  task  seemed 
hopeless.  She  felt  faint  and  hungry,  and  ate  a  little  of  the 
cold  food  and  drank  some  of  the  coffee.  Then  she  heard  a 
knocking  at  the  door  of  her  own  room,  and  it  seemed  as  if 
the  beating  of  her  heart  was  as  loud  as  the  knocking.  She 
paused  not  a  moment,  but  flew  from  Marie's  apartment 
and  turned  the  key  in  the  lock  and  hid  it,  before  answering 
the  summons.  Marie  must  be  shielded  from  prying  eyes. 

Then  she  opened  the  door  and  Madame  La  Grande 
entered.  Her  arms  were  full  of  clothing  which  she  laid  out 
on  the  bed.  She  spoke  quietly,  as  always,  and  very  kindly ; 
yet  Joyful,  to  her  own  surprise,  did  not  feel  her  heart  any 
the  more  drawn  toward  her. 


A  MODERN  KNIGHT  313 

"How  are  you  feeling?"  she  asked.  "Rested  since 
yesterday?" 

"I  am  rested,  but  I  don't  feel  very  well  to-night." 

"Ah,  yes.  It 's  been  a  trying  day  for  you,  of  course.  I 
thought  you  would  soon  have  enough  of  her.  Jim  told  me 
she  was  rolling  drunk  again  when  he  brought  up  your 
dinners.  You  're  not  used  to  such  things,  are  you?" 

"I  have  seen  a  man  drunk,  but  never  a  woman  before." 

"No  doubt."  The  woman  took  a  chair  unbidden,  and 
motioned  Joyful  to  another.  "Since  you  are  rested,  we  will 
have  a  little  talk  about  your  position.  I  am  not  ready  for 
you  to  begin  the  lessons  yet ;  you  can  help  me  in  other  ways 
for  a  while.  I  have  brought  you  some  gowns  more  suitable 
for  your  position  than  those  you  have.  There  is  a  great 
deal  of  dress  here.  We  will  just  try  on  one  of  these." 

"Oh,  but  I  can't  afford  to  buy  such  dresses  as  those," 
cried  Joyful  in  alarm,  as  Madame  lifted  an  elaborate,  pale 
yellow  brocade  from  the  bed. 

"  Come,"  she  said  impellingly.  "You  need  not  buy  them 
all  at  once;  you  can  have  all  the  time  you  wish.  These 
are  a  great  bargain;  you  can  have  them  for  half  their  value." 

"But I  don't  wish  them  for  half  their  value;  that  wouldn't 
be  right." 

Madame  La  Grande  turned  Joyful  about  as  she  talked, 
rapidly  removing  her  clothing,  and,  quite  unheeding  the 
girl's  quivering  remonstrance,  soon  had  her  entirely  re- 
clothed,  leaving  on  her  no  single  article  she  had  been  wear- 
ing. Even  on  her  feet  she  fitted  pale  yellow  silk  stockings 
and  high-heeled  slippers.  The  maidenly  Joyful  stood  before 
her  at  last,  transformed,  flushed,  shrinking  and  ashamed. 

"There!"  said  Madame  La  Grande,  leading  her  to  the 


314  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

long  mirror.  "Now  look  at  yourself.  See  what  a  lady 
you  are." 

But  Joyful  lifted  her  head  and  looked  searchingly  in  the 
woman's  eyes.  "I  do  not  want  these  clothes.  They  are 
not  suitable  for  me.  I  will  not  go  uncovered  here."  Her 
bosom  heaved  and  her  beautiful  throat  throbbed. 

"Well,  you  can  wear  these  lovely  pearls  about  your  neck, 
but  your  skin  is  more  beautiful  than  they.  Come." 

Still  Joyful  stood  and  looked  into  her  eyes  without 
moving  or  flinching. 

"Marie  told  me  your  name  is  Antoinette,  and  the  name 
belongs  to  you  in  this  dress,  absolutely.  Come,  we  will  go 
down." 

But  Joyful  neither  moved  nor  spoke.  Then  the  woman 
turned  on  her  sternly.  "I  need  your  assistance  this  even- 
ing. If  you  are  ever  to  be  of  any  use  to  me  in  this  school 
you  must  yield  to  my  judgment.  You  might  have  looked 
a  long  time  before  you  had  found  any  one  to  take  you  in 
as  I  have,  with  no  recommendations  or  references,  not 
even  a  letter  of  introduction." 

"Why  did  you  do  it?" 

"Because,  as  I  told  you,  I  needed  you.  One  of  my 
assistants  died  last  week,  and  I  was  left  in  sad  straits.  If 
you  have  any  worth  or  gratitude  in  you,  you  will  do  what- 
ever I  set  you.  I  don't  want  any  foolishness.  What  I  wish 
of  you  this  evening  is  very  simple.  Every  one  is  gone  out, 
and  there  is  no  one  to  receive  guests,  and  I  am  very  tired 
and  must  have  some  rest.  I  wish  you  to  remain  in  the  par- 
lor and  be  affable  to  any  one  who  may  happen  to  call,  and 
so  take  my  place  for  the  evening.  You  never  could  do  it 
in  those  old  duds  I  have  taken  off  from  you.  This  is  a  very 


A  MODERN  KNIGHT  315 

elegant  institution,  and  you  must  fit  the  place.  You  need  n't 
be  afraid.  Just  put  on  a  pleasant  face,  and  pretty,  courte- 
ous manners,  and  you  will  get  on  all  right." 

But  Joyful  was  silent  and  immovable.  Then  Madame 
La  Grande  tried  a  different  argument.  "You  may  be  sure, 
dear  child,  that  I  would  not  ask  you  to  do  anything  you 
ought  not.  I  have  planned  and  contrived  for  you.  I 
have  even  remodeled  this  lovely  dress  for  you  with  my  own 
hands,  so  you  could  appear  a  little  more  as  a  lady  should  in 
my  parlor,  and  now  you  requite  me  by  staring  at  me  in 
distrust.  This  is  the  doing  of  that  shameless  girl.  She 
has  no  gratitude  in  her.  Here  I  am  almost  dead  with 
fatigue  and  care,  and  unless  you  will  pleasantly  take  the 
responsibility  of  guests  and  their  reception  to-night  off  my 
hands,  I  must  go  still  longer  without  my  rest.  I  am  not 
going  to  ask  this  of  you  after  the  lessons  in  French  begin. 
It  is  only  for  an  evening  or  two,  and  at  any  rate,  no  one  may 
be  in." 

Then  Joyful  turned  slowly  toward  the  small  mirror  and 
gazed  at  herself.  She  could  not  believe  in  her  own  identity, 
as  Madame  gently  took  her  by  the  hand  and  led  her  away 
down  the  magnificent  stairway,  and  into  the  beautifully 
decorated  and  furnished  parlors.  There  she  left  her  alone, 
a  waif  tossed  up  by  the  tide-wash  of  a  cruel  ocean. 

Joyful  stood  breathless,  waiting  to  hear  the  last  of  the 
swish  and  swirl  of  the  woman's  silken  draperies  as  she  swept 
up  the  stairway;  then  she  drew  a  long  breath,  as  if  freed  from 
a  baleful  presence,  and  looked  about  her.  Everywhere  she 
saw  herself  reflected  in  great  mirrors  let  in  the  wall,  or  framed 
in  gold,  so  that  at  first  she  felt  as  if  surrounded  by  other 
young  girls  like  herself,  until  at  last  she  became  abashed  at 


3i6  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

the  many  reflections  of  herself  and  tried  to  avoid  seeing 
them. 

Quite  filling  one  end  of  the  vast  parlor  was  a  large  painting 
representing  life-size  nude  women  bathing  by  the  sea. 
Their  delicate,  pink  bodies  stood  out  in  strong  relief  against 
a  deep  blue  ocean  with  green  curling  waves.  Astounded 
and  spellbound,  Joyful  walked  slowly  forward  and  stood,  a 
small,  slight  figure,  pathetically  lonely,  fascinated  before  it. 

Presently  the  heavy  red  curtains  of  the  doorway  behind 
her  were  pushed  aside,  and  Mark  Thorn  entered  and 
walked  toward  her.  His  footsteps,  muffled  by  the  rich  rugs, 
she  did  not  hear,  and  he  stood  quietly  waiting.  A  moment 
they  remained  thus,  then  becoming  intuitively  aware  of 
the  presence  of  another  near  her,  she  turned  and  looked  in 
his  face.  He  started  back,  stunned  for  the  instant  by  what 
seemed  a  miraculous  resemblance  to  the  girl  of  his  last 
summer's  idyl,  but  she,  forgetful  of  her  dress  and  surround- 
ings, everything  except  that  she  was  at  last  looking  in  the 
face  of  a  friend,  swept  toward  him  with  swift,  eager  grace, 
both  hands  extended,  her  face  glorified  by  joyous  emotion. 
He  took  the  two  hands  in  his,  filled  with  dismay  and 
anxiety,  for  he  had  had  time  to  catch  the  sad,  frightened 
look  in  her  eyes  in  the  first  moment  of  discovery. 

"Joyful  —  Joyful  Heatherby  !  Is  this  you  ?  How  came 
you  here?" 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know  —  a  woman  brought  me  here.  I  don't 
know  where  I  am  —  I  don't  even  know  if  I  am  I.  I  prayed 
for  you  to  come  —  for  some  one  to  come."  Then,  in 
another  moment  he  had  her  folded  in  his  arms  and  she  was 
weeping  on  his  breast.  Scarcely  conscious  of  what  he  was 
doing,  he  held  her,  wiping  away  her  tears  and  kissing  her  face. 


A  MODERN  KNIGHT  317 

As  Joyful  regained  control  of  herself  she  remembered  her 
unusual  dress  and  naked  shoulders  and  arms,  and  shrank 
away  from  him.  She  caught  a  scarf  of  flimsy  drapery  from 
an  onyx  stand  and  drew  it  about  her  neck  and  across  her 
breast,  covering  herself  as  best  she  could.  Then,  brokenly, 
the  story  was  told. 

"How  long  have  you  been  in  this  place,  Joyful?"  Mark 
asked  with  grave  solicitude.  Once  before  he  had  seen  her 
weep  and  had  longed  to  comfort  her  even  as  now,  but  then 
he  had  not  dared  to  touch  her. 

"I  only  came  yesterday.  Madame  La  Grande  brought 
me.  She  said  I  might  teach  French  in  her  school  —  but 
the  time  seems  much,  much  longer,  and — " 

"And  you  have  been  unhappy  here?" 

"Everything  seems  strange.  It  seems  not  right  some 
way.  I  don't  know  what  is  the  matter,  but  I  have  a  wrong 
feeling ;  and  I  have  seen  no  one  to  teach  yet  —  and  Marie 
Vaile,  a  very  beautiful  young  lady  who  has  apartments  here, 
says  Madame  La  Grande  does  not  mean  to  have  me  teach 
at  all,  and  she  hates  her.  She  has  been  very  kind  to  me 
and  has  tried  to  make  me  happy,  and  has  kept  me  with  her 
and  would  not  let  Madame  in  —  and  yet  —  Madame  has 
been  good  to  me,  too,  but  in  a  different  way  —  I  can't 
understand  about  it,  nor  what  is  before  me,  for  it  is  all  so 
strange." 

"And  how  came  you  in  this  costume?"  Her  cheeks 
flamed  crimson,  she  who  had  never  been  abashed  in  his 
presence  before.  He  shrank  from  the  brutality  imposed 
on  him  by  the  necessity  of  questioning  her. 

"Madame  La  Grande  put  it  on  me  just  now.  She  said 
I  was  to  receive  her  guests  for  her  this  evening,  as  she  was 


318  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

too  tired  and  needed  me,  and  so  —  she  brought  me  down 
here  and  left  me,  and  —  I  was  going  up  to  put  on  my  own 
dress  as  soon  as  I  thought  she  was  really  gone,  and  while  I 
was  waiting,  you  came.  I  would  n't  have  been  so  frightened 
if  I  had  known  you  were  to  be  the  first  guest."  She  smiled 
through  her  tears,  looking  up  in  his  face,  the  old  April  smile 
he  had  seen  before  and  loved. 

"Thank  God  for  that,"  he  said.  "Go  now,  Joyful, 
change  your  costume  as  rapidly  as  you  can,  and  dress 
warmly.  I  am  going  to  take  you  away.  Go.  Don't 
hesitate.  We  will  find  you  a  much  pleasanter  school  in 
which  to  teach." 

"But  I  promised  to  go  away  with  Miss  Vaile  to-morrow." 

"No.  Not  even  until  to-morrow  can  I  let  you  stay.  I 
give  you  fifteen  minutes  in  which  to  dress  for  the  street, 
and  then  you  must  put  your  things  together  as  rapidly  as 
possible.  I  will  take  them  for  you." 

"Oh,  Mr.  Thorn !  I  can't  leave  her.  She  will  die,  if  I 
do." 

"She  was  here  before  you  came,  was  she  not?  Yes. 
Then  I  think  she  can  live  after  you  are  gone.  Trust  me, 
Miss  Joyful;  this  is  not  the  school  for  you.  If  you  are 
troubled  about  her,  I  will  look  after  her.  I  came  here  to 
see  her,  at  any  rate,  this  evening,  and  I  can  come  again." 

Then  Joyful  left  him  and  hurried  away  in  the  trailing  satin 
gown.  Mark  marveled  at  her  beauty  and  grace.  He  had 
not  dreamed  the  child  could  look  so  mature  and  womanly, 
and  yet  she  had  known  sorrow  in  the  few  months  since  he 
had  last  seen  her.  He  feared  to  let  her  out  of  his  sight  lest 
he  lose  her,  but  dared  not  speak  to  call  her  back  lest  he 
arouse  the  suspicion  of  some  attendant.  In  haste  he 


A  MODERN  KNIGHT  319 

followed  after,  leaping  up  the  stairs,  and  saw  her  vanish  in 
her  own  room.  Then  he  sat  down  there  to  watch  and  wait 
for  her  within  sight  of  her  door. 

He  wondered  at  the  emptiness  and  stillness  of  the  place, 
but  it  was  as  Madame  had  said,  every  one  had  gone  out 
upon  the  streets  or  to  the  theaters,  and  only  Joyful  and 
poor  drunken  Marie  remained  on  that  floor.  As  he  sat 
there,  the  boy  passed  him  carrying  the  tray  of  food,  and  asked 
if  there  was  anything  he  wanted;  but  Mark  assumed  an 
air  of  familiarity  with  the  place  and  gave  him  money, 
saying  he  could  look  after  his  own  wants,  and  the  boy  did 
not  return. 

As  he  sat  thus  waiting  on  the  stairs,  Mark's  heart  raged 
within  him.  He  cursed  his  fellow  men  with  a  sense  of 
hatred  toward  them,  and  felt  that,  if  it  were  necessary  in 
order  to  take  Joyful  away  from  there,  he  could  commit 
murder.  Ere  the  fifteen  minutes  were  gone,  she  reappeared, 
dressed  as  she  had  been  when  she  arrived.  Mark  laid  his 
finger  on  his  lips  and  met  her  at  the  door. 

"Let  me  in  a  moment,"  he  said.  "Where  are  your 
things?  In  that  little  trunk?  I  can  carry  them  easily. 
You  spoke  of  Marie  Vaile.  Where  is  she  ?  I  wish  to  speak 
to  her." 

"Oh,  you  can't,"  cried  Joyful,  with  a  frightened  glance 
toward  Marie's  door.  She  had  found  time  to  go  in  and 
place  a  pillow  under  the  poor  inert  head,  and  had  forgotten 
to  turn  the  key  and  secrete  it  as  before.  Mark  suspected 
some  unhappy  revelation,  yet  in  his  anger  he  determined 
to  see  Marie,  if  possible,  and  get  some  further  explanation 
of  Joyful's  experiences.  Receiving  no  response  to  his 
imperative  rap,  he  pushed  the  door  open  and  entered,  and 


320  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

then  stood  still,  aghast  more  at  the  realization  of  what 
Joyful  had  suffered  than  at  Marie's  condition. 

"She  was  packing  her  things,"  said  Joyful,  sadly. 

"Yes,  I  see." 

"We  were  to  leave  together  to-morrow.  It  will  break 
her  heart  for  me  to  go  without  her.  She  was  so  good  to  me  ! 
Oh,  Marie,  Marie  !  Speak  to  me  !"  She  knelt  at  her  side, 
and  again  her  tears  fell  on  Marie's  face.  "  Marie,  open  your 
eyes.  Let  me  explain  to  you." 

Mark  took  her  by  the  hand  gently.  "Come.  We  can- 
not wait  here.  She  will  know  it  is  better  for  you  when  she 
gets  over  this."  His  heart  overflowed  with  tenderness 
toward  Joyful.  He  loathed  to  see  her  touch  the  drunken 
creature,  from  whom  he  turned  away  his  eyes  in  disgust, 
and  his  manner  was  almost  rough  as  he  led  Joyful  away. 
He  could  not  help  seeing  her  as  he  had  seen  her  first,  fair 
and  fresh  as  a  rose  with  the  dew  on  it,  and  as  unconscious  of 
evil.  Now  he  was  seized  with  a  frenzy  of  haste  lest  they 
be  interrupted  on  their  way  out.  He  lifted  the  small  trunk 
to  his  shoulder.  "Follow  me  quickly,"  he  said. 

At  the  outer  door  they  were  intercepted  by  the  boy,  who 
advanced  swaggeringly  and  demanded  to  know  of  Mark 
what  he  was  doing. 

"  Open  the  door,"  said  Mark.  And  when  the  boy  refused,  he 
took  him  suddenly  by  the  collar  and  twisted  him  about  with 
one  hand  and  tossed  him  sprawling  on  the  floor  behind  them. 
Joyful  sprang  forward  to  undo  the  fastening  of  the  door  her- 
self. She  did  not  understand  the  complicated  arrangement 
of  locks  and  bolts,  and  Mark  was  still  further  delayed,  but 
he  managed  to  drag  Joyful  out  in  the  cold  winter  air  before 
the  boy  had  aroused  the  guardians  of  the  place. 


A  MODERN  KNIGHT  321 

"We  are  free,"  said  Mark,  drawing  in  his  breath  sharply. 
"Walk  with  me  quickly,  please,  only  a  block  or  two.  I  will 
hail  a  cab  and  then  we  are  off." 

And  now,  for  the  first  time,  Mark  realized  that  he  did 
not  know  where  to  take  Joyful.  That  there  were  places 
where  she  might  be  safely  lodged  for  a  time,  until  she  could 
find  employment,  he  knew;  but  he  quickly  discarded  all 
thought  of  these.  He  did  not  wish  to  have  her  affairs  too 
closely  questioned,  nor  to  place  her  under  any  kind  of  vicari- 
ous or  public  surveillance,  nor  would  he  take  her  to  his  aunt. 
A  chill,  cutting  wind  was  blowing,  and  Joyful  shivered  under 
her  great  cloak,  but  she  was  not  thinking  of  the  cold,  as  she 
walked  at  his  side  weeping  silently. 

They  quickly  arrived  at  a  corner  where  cabs  could  be 
found,  and  Mark  hailed  one  and  they  rode  away  together. 
Not  being  able  to  think  of  a  better  place  at  the  moment, 
he  directed  the  driver  to  his  old  studio  rooms.  He  knew 
that,  tucked  away  in  a  small  corner  of  the  building,  lived 
the  janitor  and  his  wife,  who  was  a  voluble,  shrewish  English 
woman,  yet  kind-hearted  in  her  way.  If  they  would  take 
care  of  Joyful  for  a  short  while,  he  could  think  better  what 
to  do.  Perhaps  he  could  learn  where  the  Drews  were  and 
send  her  to  them. 

During  the  short  half  hour  of  their  drive  he  was  filled  with 
varying  and  tumultuous  emotions.  It  seemed  as  if  every 
moment  he  had  spent  in  Joyful's  presence  since  first  he 
looked  on  her  passed  in  review  before  him,  and  his  heart 
throbbed  in  rebellious  anger  at  her  loneliness  and  peril. 
He  vowed  to  himself  that  she  should  henceforth  be  his  care. 
He  would  love  her  and  shield  her.  He  would  wait  until 
she  was  happy  again,  and  then  he  would  woo  her  into  a 


322  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

greater  joy  —  and  while  he  thought  and  brooded,  she  sat 
silently  beside  him  weeping.  Yet  he  would  not  let  himself 
touch  her  again  to  draw  her  to  him  and  speak  out  of  the 
longing  of  his  heart.  He  could  not  do  so  sanely,  at  this 
moment. 

"  Why  do  you  cry,  Joyful  ?  "  he  asked  at  last.  "  You 
must  not.  You  are  safe  now,  and  I  am  going  to  see  to  it 
that  you  are  happy  all  the  rest  of  your  life.  Why  do  you 
cry?" 

"  Oh,  I  can't  stop!  I  am  not  thinking  of  myself.  It  is 
because  she  is  lying  there  so.  I  did  n't  mean  you  to  see  her." 

"  Joyful,  don't  think  of  her,"  he  said  sternly. 

"  She  was  sweet  and  dear  to  me,  Mr.  Thorn,  and  so  very 
beautiful  and  so  sad,  part  of  the  time.  She  must  have  had 
some  great  and  terrible  sorrow,  but  she  did  not  say  so;  yet 
I  think  she  hates  to  remember  something  —  and  so  —  she 
does  that.  I  'm  so  sorry  you  saw  her." 

"  Why  are  you,  dear  one  ?  "  He  murmured  the  last  two 
words  in  a  whisper,  but  she  heard  them  and  lifted  her  tearful 
glance  to  his  face  with  the  old  questioning  look  he  knew  so 
well. 

"  Because  she  ought  not  to  be  detested.  I  ought  to  have 
stayed  with  her  —  I  —  " 

"  I  will  not  detest  her,  then,  if  you  don't  like  it.  Stop 
crying.  You  will  be  ill."  He  feared  himself  and  assumed 
a  sterness  he  could  not  feel,  and  she  lifted  her  head  and 
gazed  out  hi  the  darkness,  trying  bravely  to  regain  her  self- 
control. 

"  I  wish  she  were  here  with  us,"  she  said  at  last.  "  I  am 
afraid  for  her  —  of  something  —  I  don't  know  what  — 

"  If  this  will  lighten  your  dear  heart,  I  will  find  out  what 


A  MODERN  KNIGHT  323 

becomes  of  her,  and  let  you  know.  You  see,  I  am  always 
going  to  take  care  of  you  after  this,  Joyful,  and  we  won't 
have  any  more  tears  or  sadness,  will  we  ?  "  He  took  her 
hand.  She  very  gently  drew  it  away,  but  stopped  weeping. 
"  You  are  most  kind  and  good  to  me,  but  —  you  know  — 
I  can  take  care  of  myself  without  being  a  burden  to  any  one, 
as  soon  as  I  find  the  right  place." 

"  Listen,  Joyful.     Was  I  not  a  burden  to  you  once  ?  " 
"  No,  never,  Mr.  Thorn.     Grandmother  was  so  happy  to 
have  you  there,  and  so  was  grand-daddy.     And  I  —  I  loved 
to  be  with  you  and  hear  you  talk." 

"And  what  if  I  also  love  to  be  with  you  and  hear  you  talk, 
would  you  deny  me  that  privilege?" 

"No  —  but  I  can  take  care  of  myself,  Mr.  Thorn." 
"I  know  you  can,  Miss  Joyful.  You  are  a  brave  little 
woman,  as  well  as  a  wise  one.  Now,  when  we  get  where 
I  am  taking  you,  I  will  ask  them  to  give  you  board  and  lodg- 
ing for  a  week  or  two,  and  that  will  give  us  time  to  find  the 
right  kind  of  a  place  for  you,  as  you  said ;  and  in  the  mean- 
time I  would  n't  talk  to  the  woman  very  much  about  — 
your  —  affairs.  I  know  the  man  very  well,  and  he  is  a  good 
sort ;  but  his  wife  —  I  have  only  seen  her  —  I  fear  she  is 
something  of  a  scold.  She  may  be  a  little  aggressive. 
Don't  let  her  annoy  you.  Just  keep  your  own  counsel  and 
wait  until  I  come  to  you  again.  It  may  be  a  week,  or  more, 
but  you  can  be  patient  until  I  do,  can't  you?" 
"Yes,  if  you  think  best  —  and  —  Marie — " 
"I  will  find  out  about  her.  Don't  worry."  So  he  com- 
forted Joyful,  and  when  the  cab  stopped,  her  tears  were 
dried,  and  she  was  beginning  to  think  hopefully  of  the 
future. 


324  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

The  janitor  and  his  wife  had  not  yet  retired.  The  woman 
appeared  to  have  just  come  in,  for  she  still  wore  her  bonnet. 
Having  no  children,  she  found  time  for  other  interests  than 
those  involving  her  own  and  her  husband's  affairs.  Mark 
merely  stated  that  he  wished  to  find  a  safe  and  pleasant 
place  for  a  little  friend  of  his  from  the  country,  until  she 
could  find  a  satisfactory  situation.  The  pair  were  sur- 
prised, and  the  wife  was  reserved,  but  Mark  had  soon  won 
his  way  with  the  man,  and  they  were  shown  into  the  tidy 
little  apartment  of  four  rooms,  one  of  which,  exceedingly 
small,  but  white-curtained  and  neat,  was  given  to  Joyful. 

There  Mark  left  her  seated  on  her  little  trunk,  bravely 
trying  to  keep  back  the  tears  which  would  start  afresh  when 
the  door  closed  after  him.  He  had  promised  he  would  find 
her  anything  she  wished  to  do,  and  would  return  in  a  week, 
perhaps  sooner,  and  his  heart  ached  and  beat  madly  when 
he  turned  away. 

Then  he  talked  further  with  the  janitor's  wife,  who  had 
a  chronic  suspicion  of  all  men,  more  especially  of  artists, 
whose  vocation  she  did  not  appreciate,  and  of  men  her 
husband  liked.  After  making  a  strict  bargain  with  her, 
Mark  paid  board  for  two  weeks  in  advance  and  took  his 
departure. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

MRS.  BINGS'  BLUNDERS 

"  So,  she'd  efface  the  score, 
And  forgive  me  as  before. 
Just  at  twelve  o'clock 
I  shall  hear  her  knock 
In  the  worst  of  a  storm's  uproar  — 
I  shall  pull  her  through  the  door  — 
I  shall  have  her  for  evermore  ! " 

—  ROBERT  BROWNING. 

MARK  THORN'S  affairs  necessitated  his  arrival  in  New 
York  immediately,  and  in  order  the  sooner  to  return  to  his 
charge,  he  took  a  night  train  out  of  Boston  within  the  hour, 
but  with  all  his  impatience  he  was  detained  even  longer  than 
he  feared  he  might  be.  In  his  desire  to  please  Joyful  by 
bringing  her  some  news  of  Marie,  he  wrote  to  that  young 
woman  asking  an  interview,  without,  however,  making 
mention  of  Joyful.  As  he  received  no  reply,  he  went,  on  his 
return  to  Boston,  to  the  address  given  him  by  Scott  Stevens 
as  before,  but  learned  that  she  was  no  longer  there. 

He  then  demanded  an  interview  with  Madame  La  Grande, 
but  from  that  astute  individual  no  further  information 
could  be  gained  than  that  "Miss  Vaile  had  been  ill,  and  then 
had  departed,  leaving  no  address.  Her  apartments  were 
to  let  on  most  reasonable  terms,  and  if  Mr.  Thorn  knew  of 
any  young  woman  who  wished  a  desirable  home  where  she 
would  be  well  cared  for  and  chaperoned,  would  he  be  kind 

325 


326  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

enough  to  recommend  them  ?  She  would  be  pleased  to  show 
him  the  suite  which  was  '  supplied  with  every  convenience, 
modern  and  hygienic.' '  Thinking  to  satisfy  Joyful  by  tell- 
ing her  he  had  seen  the  empty  rooms,  he  followed  Madame, 
and  was  taken  to  the  place  where  he  had  seen  Marie  stretched 
on  the  floor  in  drunken  stupor  ten  days  before,  now  swept 
and  garnished  for  new  prey.  He  turned  away,  sad  at  heart, 
and  could  not  help  wishing  he  had  some  clew  to  the  poor 
young  creature's  whereabouts,  yet  he  was  glad  also  that  she 
was  completely  lost  to  Joyful  —  for  why  need  her  dear  heart 
be  troubled  by  sin  in  which  she  had  no  part,  and  sorrow 
which  she  could  not  mitigate? 

He  then  hastened  his  steps  and  found  himself  excitedly 
eager  to  see  her.  Blessed  little  heart !  She  should  never 
have  cause  to  weep  again.  He  yet  hardly  knew  what  he 
was  going  to  do  with  her  —  if  only  he  could  learn  the  ad- 
dress of  the  Drews  !  How  unfortunate  to  have  lost  them  ! 
Everything  took  such  an  unconscionable  time  !  No  doubt 
Nathanael  was  in  communication  with  them,  but  to  wait  for 
letters  to  go  first  to  him,  and  then  follow  them  half  around 
the  globe  would  never  do.  He  called  a  carriage  and  decided 
he  would  take  Joyful  out  to  drive,  and  then  would  have  a 
long  talk  with  her  and  persuade  her  to  go  back  to  Wood- 
bury  Center  and  live  at  the  rector's  until  he  could  come  for 
her.  Yes  —  that  was  the  best  plan  —  it  might  be  dreary 
and  sad  for  her,  but  it  would  be  only  a  short  time  —  and 
to  be  alone  in  the  world  fending  for  herself  was  certainly 
out  of  the  question. 

Filled  with  these  thoughts,  he  hurried  along  the  corridor 
where  the  janitor  had  his  four  tidy  rooms.  He  could 
scarcely  wait  for  a  response  to  his  imperative  knock,  yet 


MRS.  BINGS'  BLUNDERS  327 

the  wife  was  very  deliberate  in  answering  the  summons,  and 
very  distant  and  dignified  as  she  waved  him  to  a  seat  with 
a  Mrs.  Wilfer-like  air.  Mark  could  not  help  thinking  of 
that  austere  lady  with  an  inward  smile,  in  spite  of  his  pre- 
occupation. He  took  the  seat  offered,  and  waited.  Mrs. 
Bings  stood  before  him  with  folded  arms,  and  also  waited. 

"I  wish  to  see  Miss  Heatherby,"  he  said  at  last.  "Is  she 
well?" 

The  janitor's  wife  bowed  her  head,  and  crossing  the  room 
with  a  firm,  masculine  tread,  took  from  a  small  wooden 
workbox  a  letter  which  she  gave  him,  holding  it  out  gingerly, 
as  if  reluctant  to  allow  him  to  touch  it. 

"What  is  this?"  he  asked. 

"A  note  she  left  for  you,"  she  said  sternly,  and  shut  her 
mouth  with  a  grim  smile  around  her  compressed  lips. 

"Left  for  me  !  Is  she  gone  ?"  he  cried,  rising  and  seizing 
his  hat.  "Where  is  she?" 

"You'd  better  compose  yourself  and  read  your  note." 
She  turned  her  back  on  him  and  continued  the  work  she  had 
before  her  of  sponging  and  pressing  a  pair  of  her  husband's 
trousers,  which  were  spread  out  on  an  ironing  board  laid 
across  the  backs  of  two  chairs. 

Mark  felt,  but  could  not  interpret  to  himself,  the  chill  of 
her  contempt.  Why  this  air  of  mystery  ?  Why  had  Joy- 
ful gone?  What  had  come  upon  her?  He  read  the  note 
eagerly,  and  as  he  read,  the  blood  mounted  to  his  head  and 
surged  through  his  brain. 

"My  dear  Mr.  Thorn,"  it  ran;  "I  don't  know  what  to  say 
to  you.  I  can't  see  you  again,  ever.  I  can't  let  you  take 
care  of  me.  I  thought  you  were  good.  I  trusted  you  as  I 
did  my  dear  grand-daddy.  Oh,  Mr.  Thorn,  if  I  could  only 


328  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

die  —  but  I  can't !  I  must  live  and  find  Marie.  Don't 
ever  try  to  find  me  or  to  see  me. 

"  Mrs.  Bings  has  told  me  all  about  it  —  where  I  was  —  and 
about  poor  Marie  Vaile,  and  why  she  was  so  sad  and  strange, 
and  how  wicked  every  one  is,  and  a  great  many  things  that 
you  knew  all  the  time.  I  know  at  last  what  some  of  the 
'  Monsters '  are.  You  never  went  to  see  Marie  in  order  to 
fight  them.  You  too  are  wicked,  and  I  wish  I  could  have 
died  before  I  found  it  out.  I  wish  I  could  have  died  believ- 
ing you  to  be  a  true  knight. 

"  I  must  tell  you  the  reason  I  can  never  see  you  again.  It 
is  because,  down  deep  in  my  heart,  I  can't  believe  you  are  so 
bad,  and  I  am  afraid.  I  dare  not  trust  myself.  I  am 
afraid  you  will  persuade  me  to  forget  all  I  ought  to  remember, 
and  I  shall  become  at  last  like  poor  Marie  Vaile.  Mrs. 
Bings  tells  me  that  is  what  you  will  bring  me  to,  and  I  can't 
believe  it  —  and  yet  she  says  I  must,  so  I  will  hide  from  you 
forever. 

"  Good-bye,  Mr.  Thorn,  for  always  and  always.  Do  not 
think  me  ungrateful.  You  were  good  to  me  to  take  me 
away,  and  always  to  talk  about  lovely  things  with  me. 
Thank  you,  thank  you  for  it  all ;  but  now,  just  let  me  be 
lost.  I  shall  be  like  a  pebble  thrown  in  the  ocean.  I  shall 
lie  on  the  sand  and  wait  —  you  will  never  find  me  again. 
This  one  thing  more  I  must  tell  you.  When  Mrs.  Bings 
told  me  what  you  really  are,  it  made  my  heart  ache  more 
than  when  I  came  to  know  that  I  never  should  see  my  dear 
grandfather  and  grandmother  again.  You  see,  in  them  I 
can  still  trust,  I  have  not  lost  them,  but  now  that  I  have  lost 
my  faith  in  you,  oh,  Mr.  Thorn,  it  is  like  losing  my  soul 
when  I  lose  yours,  for  my  soul  rested  in  its  trust  in  yours, 


MRS.  BINGS'  BLUNDERS  329 

and  now  I  have  lost  you.  Before,  it  seemed  as  if  I  had  some- 
thing great  and  good  here  in  the  world  with  me,  but  now  it  is 
gone,  and  I  know  at  last  that  I  never  had  it. 

"  Don't  ever  try  to  find  out  from  the  Drews  or  from 
Nathanael  where  I  am.  I  shall  never  let  them  know  where 
I  am.  I  can  never  tell  them  where  I  have  been.  I  am 
ashamed,  and  feel  as  if  my  heart  is  dead.  That  is  all. 

"  Mrs.  Bings  has  found  me  something  to  do  that  is  sweet 
and  good,  for  I  am  taking  care  of  three  dear  little  children ; 
so  if  you  care  for  me  in  the  good  way,  which  she  says  you 
do  not,  you  may  know  that  I  am  supporting  myself  and 
need  no  one  to  take  care  of  me.  I  will  try  to  remember  all 
the  beautiful  days  of  last  summer,  when  we  talked  together 
and  I  believed  in  you.  It  will  be  to  me  like  a  lovely  dream 
to  think  about,  and  forget  the  rest  —  and  yet  this  last  is 
in  my  heart  like  fire,  but  sometime  I  hope  it  will  burn  out. 

"  Forgive  me  because  I  can't  see  you  again,  and  let  me  be 
hid  from  you  forever. 

"JOYFUL  ANTOINETTE  HEATHERBY." 

Mark  rose  to  his  feet  and  stood  as  if  stunned.  The 
room  seemed  to  reel  and  the  dishes  on  the  dresser  to  dance 
about.  Mrs.  Bings  still  stood  with  her  back  to  him  and 
ironed  away  at  the  trousers,  putting  her  iron  down  with 
heavy  thumps.  He  could  hear  it  hiss  as  it  touched  the 
damp  cloth,  and  could  see  the  steam  rise  about  her  head  like 
smoke  from  infernal  fires.  How  he  hated  that  straight, 
relentless  bracing  of  the  spare  shoulders !  The  very  set 
of  her  head  and  the  tightly  screwed  knot  of  hair  on  the  back 
of  it  betokened  to  him  the  type  of  the  bigoted  fool.  He 
felt  the  hatred  so  welling  up  in  him  that  his  fingers  quivered 


330  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

to  seize  the  tool  in  her  hand  and  brain  her  with  it.  For 
once  in  his  life  he  realized  he  had  a  devil  within  him.  He 
essayed  to  speak,  but  the  moisture  had  left  his  mouth,  and 
his  lips  were  white  and  dry. 

He  turned  toward  the  door  and  there  paused,  clinging  to 
it  for  support.  He  knew  now  how  he  loved  Joyful.  He 
would  rather  lose  his  life  than  lose  her  out  of  it.  Even  in 
this  moment  his  brain  was  cleared  and  swept  through  with 
a  very  breeze  of  thankfulness  as  he  thought  what  if  he  had 
married  Louise  and  gone  away  with  her,  while  he  carried 
in  his  heart  such  a  love  as  this  for  this  girl !  What  a  terrible 
wrong  had  he  been  saved  from  committing!  Then  he 
found  his  voice  and  spoke  quietly:  — 

"Mrs.  Bings,  you  have  lied  to  that  young  woman.  You 
have  committed  a  deadly  sin.  You  have  killed  — 

But  suddenly  the  woman  turned,  and  all  the  vials  of  her 
wrath  were  let  loose  on  him. 

"I  know  you  and  all  your  kind,"  she  cried,  slapping  her 
iron  down  on  its  stand,  and  facing  him  with  arms  akimbo. 
"  I  belong  to  the  '  W'ite  Ribbon  Harmy '  and  I  know  my  duty. 
I  Ve  taken  care  of  that  girl.  Poor  little  shorn  lamb  !  She  's 
safe  now  from  the  likes  of  you,  and  she  '11  stay  safe.  I  've 
put  a  flea  in  'er  ear.  She  '11  never  look  at  you  again ;  no, 
not  if  you  were  to  appear  to  'er  as  a  hangel  of  light  with 
two  wings  and  a  crown.  She  '11  know  the  devil  sent  you. 
Poor  little  broken  'eart  of  'er  -  -  if  you  could  'a'  seen  'er 
cry  as  I  did,  you  'd  repent  o'  your  ways.  Did  you  think 
I  could  n't  read  you  ?  I  would  n't  trust  any  man  further 
'n  I  could  see  the  w'ites  of  'is  eyes.  You  see  this  badge  ?  " 
she  pointed  to  a  rag  of  a  ribbon  that  had  once  been 
white,  pinned  to  her  dusty  black  waist.  "That  badge  is 


MRS.  BINGS'  BLUNDERS  331 

a  sign  of  purity,  and  it  means  that  I  'm  going  to  look  after 
that  girl 's  if  she  were  my  own.  That 's  right.  Go  off,  now 
you  know  you  're  found  out,"  she  shrieked  after  him,  as  he 
hurried  away  from  the  sight  of  her  face.  He  feared  he 
might  strike  her  dead  if  he  stood  there  longer. 

She  turned  back  to  her  work,  muttering  protestations 
against  his  ever  intruding  in  her  presence  again ;  and  Mark, 
angry  and  hurt,  reeled  as  he  went  back  through  the  long 
corridor,  so  that  he  struck  against  the  walls  now  on  this  side 
and  now  on  that,  and  climbed  into  his  carriage  like  a  drunken 
man.  There  he  sat  and  rode  about  for  hours,  directing  his 
coachman  first  to  one  point  and  then  to  another.  At  last 
he  returned,  thinking  he  would  find  the  janitor  and  hire  him 
to  learn  Joyful's  whereabouts  for  him.  But  Tom  Bings  was 
a  wise  man  in  his  fear  of  his  wife's  tongue.  He  refused  to 
have  anything  to  do  with  the  matter,  protesting  he  never 
meddled  in  the  women's  affairs.  At  last,  through  the  in- 
fluence of  a  crisp  greenback  —  that  most  potent  argument 
—  he  consented  to  do  what  he  could ;  perhaps  he  might  get 
a  letter  to  Joyful,  which  Mark  was  to  send  under  separate 
cover. 

"But  it's  the  truth  I'm  telling  you.  I  don't  know  no 
more  where  she  is  than  I  know  what  my  wife's  mother  wore 
to  be  married  in." 

"You  know  your  wife  has  entirely  mistaken  her  position. 
I  will  have  the  police  take  it  up,  if  she  does  n't  come  to  her 
senses." 

But  Mark  knew  he  would  not  do  that.  He  would  find 
a  better  way  than  to  hound  his  love  to  her  place  of  refuge 
with  the  police.  He  would  be  patient  and  find  her.  Surely 
love  would  lead  him  to  her. 


332  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

Later,  as  he  pondered  over  the  situation,  he  became  in- 
censed with  a  feeling  of  indignation  against  Joyful,  that  she 
should  be  so  persuaded  to  think  evil  of  him  by  a  stranger. 
Yet  he  considered  how  crushed  must  be  her  old  faith  in  men, 
after  the,  doubtless,  most  brutal  methods  of  Mrs.  Bings. 
Surely  the  revelation  of  evil  made,  as  that  woman  would 
make  it,  could  be  none  other  than  a  "Horror  of  great  dark- 
ness "  spreading  over  her.  How  could  she  know  whom  to 
trust !  Then  again  he  read  her  letter,  blotted  with  her  tears, 
and  when  he  came  to  the  words,  "  It  is  because,  down  deep  in 
my  heart,  I  can't  believe  you  are  bad,  and  I  am  afraid.  I 
dare  not  trust  myself,"  he  pressed  them  to  his  lips. 

It  was  with  a  sadness  he  had  never  before  experienced, 
yet  with  a  strange  moving  of  joy  within  him,  as  though  a 
new  hope  had  become  a  part  of  his  daily  life,  a  hope  to  be 
pursued,  and  at  last  realized,  that  he  returned  to  his  studio 
and  took  up  earnestly  the  work  in  hand. 

He  wrote  to  Nathanael,  telling  of  JoyfuPs  desolation  only, 
and  her  present  employment,  and  begging  for  information 
concerning  the  Drews.  Then  he  waited  and  worked  while 
the  weeks  slipped  by,  for  Nathanael  had  not  heard  for  a 
month  from  Elizabeth,  and  his  last  letter  was  still  following 
her  about.  He  replied  to  Mark  in  haste,  and  stated  that  he 
was  soon  to  leave  for  New  York,  and  later  would  be  in 
Southern  California,  when  he  hoped  to  hunt  them  up.  They 
could  not  be  lost  as  long  as  he  was  in  the  world.  He  wrote 
buoyantly  and  hopefully.  Everything  was  going  well  with 
him.  His  letter  seemed  to  bring  with  it  the  breath  and  glow 
of  the  desert  wind  and  sun.  His  invention  was  being  used 
in  the  mines  of  the  company,  and  he  was  to  introduce  its 
use  in  other  mines.  He  had  leaped  into  a  position  of  im- 


MRS.   BINGS'  BLUNDERS  333 

portance  by  sheer  brain  and  energy.  He  was  like  a  power- 
ful spirit  suddenly  let  loose  from  chains  and  imprisonment. 

Mark  smiled  as  he  read  the  letter,  sitting  one  day  in  his 
studio,  and  his  smile  had  in  it  a  light  of  satisfaction.  He 
knew  his  own  hand  had  broken  Nathanael's  chain,  and  un- 
barred his  prison  door;  and  Nathanael  knew  it  also.  A 
strong  undercurrent  of  vital  friendship  pervaded  the  letter 
and  made  this  fact  apparent  to  Mark  without  the  use  of 
set  terms. 

Still,  where  were  the  Drews,  and  where  was  Joyful? 
Mark  fell  in  the  way  of  going  frequently  to  Boston,  and 
spending  his  Sundays  roaming  the  streets  among  the  resi- 
dence portions  of  the  city,  and  even  out  in  the  suburbs,  scan- 
ning the  faces  of  those  who  rode  in  carriages  with  children  or 
walked  with  them  in  parks. 

Once  he  was  rewarded  by  a  glimpse  of  Joyful's  face,  but 
he  was  too  far  away  to  reach  her  before  she  was  gone.  It 
was  April,  and  she  was  dressed  in  a  soft  blue  cloth.  Her 
abundant  dark  hair  waved  beneath  a  small  toque  of  the 
same  color.  The  curling  tendrils  about  her  neck  and  ears 
were  there,  just  as  he  remembered  them.  Two  little  girls  of 
eight  and  ten,  very  elaborately  dressed,  danced  on  before  her, 
and  she  led  by  the  hand  a  boy,  fair-haired  and  beautiful, 
who  gazed  up  in  her  face  as  she  looked  down  and  talked 
to  him.  They  came  down  the  steps  of  a  new  and  ornate 
house  and  entered  an  open  barouche  and  were  whirled  away 
before  Mark  could  hurry  near  enough  to  speak.  Then  for 
days  he  haunted  the  place,  but  saw  no  more  of  her  or  of  the 
children,  so  he  concluded  they  were  but  paying  a  visit  there. 

Joyful  had  lost  much  of  her  old  color,  Mark  thought,  and 
her  eyes  looked  large  and  sad.  Seeing  her  thus,  so  perfectly 


334  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

gowned  and  mature,  he  realized  how  much  he  was  losing  of 
her,  and  yet  he  must  wait  She  was  now  a  woman,  and 
when  he  had  found  her  he  must  win  her  anew. 

For  a  time  his  work  progressed  slowly,  and  the  order  he 
had  received  from  Mervain  Thompson  remained  untouched 
except  for  a  few  studies  for  the  composition. 

One  day  as  he  sat  before  one  of  these,  a  woman  entered 
his  studio.  She  was  in  black,  with  only  a  touch  of  scarlet 
in  her  hat  and  at  her  throat,  enough  to  add  warmth  and 
fervor  to  her  appearance.  Her  eyes  were  neither  brown 
nor  black,  yet  they  looked  both  dark  and  brilliant  as  she 
stood  before  him,  silent.  For  a  moment  he  did  not  recognize 
her.  Then  he  stepped  forward  eagerly,  and  even  held  out 
his  hand. 

"Ah,  Miss  Vaile  !  I  had  begun  to  fear  you  were  not  going 
to  accept  my  proposition."  He  was  overjoyed.  Perhaps 
through  her  he  might  find  Joyful. 

"No?  But  I  am  here  at  last.  I  was  sorry  to  be  ill  the 
evening  you  called  —  you  did  call  ?"  She  stood  before  him 
with  her  birdlike  poise  of  the  head,  and  the  look  she  gave 
him  was  keen. 

He  grew  suddenly  wary,  and  remembering  how  he  had 
seen  her  that  night,  answered  evasively :  "  I  called  several 
days  later,  and  found  you  had  gone.  The  woman  gave  me 
no  address.  Be  seated,  please." 

"No.  I  was  obliged  to  move,  and  was  very  ill  for  a  long 
time,  and  —  I  —  hope  I  am  not  too  late.  Can  you  still  use 
me?" 

"I  can,  indeed.  I  am  lacking  just  the  model  I  should 
have  — "  He  paused.  The  copy  of  the  "  Scarlet  Letter  "  he 
had  purchased  lay  on  the  stand  at  her  elbow.  He  saw  her 


MRS.   BINGS'  BLUNDERS  335 

eyes  fasten  on  it.  "Yes.  My  subject  is  taken  from  that. 
Can  you  find  a  child,  do  you  think  ? " 

"Of  what  age?" 

"I  have  chosen  the  scene  of  the  trial;  you  remember  it ? 
These  are  my  studies." 

"I  have  read  it,  yes.  Some  poor  mother  may  be  glad  to 
have  me  borrow  her  child.  I  will  try." 

"You  can  see  from  this  study  something  of  the  style  of 
dress.  We  must  keep  to  the  times  and  yet  —  considerable 
latitude  is  left  us  in  the  matter,  as  the  text  gives  us  the  idea 
that  Hester  Prynne  used  her  fancy  in  the  modeling  of  it." 

"May  I  do  the  same,  or  do  you  prefer  to  design  the 
dress  ?  "  She  turned  suddenly  on  him,  and  a  light  seemed  to 
shine  in  her  eyes  that  belied  her  nonchalant  air.  He  hesi- 
tated a  little;  then  after  a  moment's  further  conversation,  he 
said:  "Yes,  I  think  you  grasp  the  idea.  Of  course  the  dress 
is  not  of  the  importance  that  the  pose  and  the  expression 
are.  I  can  modify  the  costume  to  please  myself.  Will  you 
find  the  child?" 

"Yes.  Any  little  Italian  beggar  baby  will  do.  When 
do  you  wish  me?" 

"As  soon  as  possible." 

"I  will  return  in  a  week  or  less.  Good-bye."  She  was 
gone  as  suddenly  as  she  had  appeared. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

MRS.   RENOLDS  DISCOVERS  A  MYSTERY 

"  Sly  Beelzebub  took  all  occasions 

To  try  Job's  constancy  and  patience  ; 

He  took  his  honours,  took  his  health, 

He  took  his  children,  took  his  wealth, 
His  camels,  horses,  asses,  cows, 
And  cunning  Satan  did  not  take  his  spouse. 

But  Heaven  that  brings  out  good  from  evil 

And  loves  to  disappoint  the  Devil, 

Had  predetermined  to  restore 

Twofold  all  Job  had  before, 
His  children,  camels,  horses,  cows ;  — 
Short-sighted  Satan,  not  to  take  his  spouse." 

—  S.  T.  COLERIDGE. 

AFTER  Marie  left  him,  Mark  stood  long  before  his  studies, 
gazing  at  them  as  if  he  were  intent  on  the  composition,  but 
in  reality  he  was  not  thinking  of  it.  He  was  living  over  that 
night  in  Boston  when  he  found  Joyful.  The  sight  of  Marie 
brought  it  all  back  to  him  with  new  vividness.  He  won- 
dered also  about  Marie,  and  what  Scott  Stevens  had  to  do 
with  her.  Then  his  thoughts  wandered  to  Louise  and  their 
last  evening  together,  and  he  lifted  his  head  and  laughed, 
and  even  as  he  laughed  he  thought  of  his  smile  in  the  boat 
and  how  Joyful  had  been  displeased  with  it ;  then  his  thoughts 
returned  to  the  moment  when  she  had  wept  in  his  arms  and 
he  had  dried  her  tears. 

336 


MRS.   RENOLDS  DISCOVERS  A  MYSTERY    337 

He  seized  his  hat  and  walked  out.  Nothing  but  action, 
movement,  would  allay  for  a  time  the  hunger  of  his  soul. 
Again  he  tramped  moodily  about,  and  again  he  encountered 
Mrs.  Renolds,  even  as  he  had  six  months  or  more  before,  and 
again  he  rode  in  her  little  carriage.  She  took  note  of  his 
worn  and  haggard  appearance,  and  said  in  her  heart,  "He 
has  really  taken  his  affair  with  Louise  Parsons  very  hard." 

"You  never  come  near  any  of  us  these  days,  Mr.  Thorn. 
Are  you  turned  into  a  veritable  recluse?" 

"Not  intentionally,  no.    Why?    Do  I  appear  one?" 

"  How  do  I  know,  when  I  never  see  you  ?  You  look  worn 
and  ill." 

He  laughed.  "Do  I,  indeed?  But  I  am  abnormally 
well." 

"That  is  just  what  I  should  say :  Certainly  not  normally 
so."  They  were  silent  for  a  time,  then  she  spoke  again. 
"Have  you  heard  that  Mr.  Van  Burgh  married  May  Carlie  ?  " 

"No.  It  —  I  thought  he  preferred  some  one  else."  He 
turned  and  looked  at  her,  and  their  eyes  met. 

"Possibly,"  she  replied,  with  the  faintest  hint  of  a  smile 
on  her  face. 

"Ha!" 

Once  more  they  were  silent,  and  then  the  conversation 
wandered  over  other  bits  of  gossip,  and  at  last  Mark  be- 
came restless.  He  longed  to  be  again  on  his  feet,  moving 
about,  thinking  his  own  thoughts.  This,  Mrs.  Renolds, 
with  her  subtle  appreciation  of  his  moods,  quickly  perceived. 

"Shall  I  take  you  back ?"  she  asked. 

"I  ought  to  be  at  work,  I  suppose.  We  artists  are  such 
an  easily  diverted,  idle  class.  Of  course  it  is  pleasanter  to 
ride  about  here  in  the  park  and  watch  the  spring  unfold." 


338  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

"Then  do  that.  I  'm  sure  it  is  better  for  you  than  work. 
It  may  not  be  kind  to  say  so,  but  you  certainly  do  look  ill, 
Mr.  Thorn.  What  are  you  doing  now?" 

"Come  in  and  see." 

"Thank  you,  I  will.  May  I  bring  the  Van  Burghs? 
They  are  with  me  for  a  time." 

"I  should  be  delighted." 

"And  you  will  call  on  them  ?" 

"I  will,  indeed.     Shall  it  be  this  evening?" 

"Oh  — I—"  Mrs.  Renolds  caught  her  breath.  She 
had  not  expected  him  to  be  so  precipitate.  "  I  have  another 
guest  who  —  pardon  me  —  whom  you  may  not  care  to 
meet.  Do  forgive  me  if  I  am  on  forbidden  ground  —  I  - 

"I  assure  you  I  am  quite  in  the  dark,  Mrs.  Renolds. 
There  is  no  one  living  whom  I  would  not  willingly  meet  in 
your  house.  That  goes  without  saying." 

She  lifted  her  brows.  "  In  this  case  it  hardly  goes  without 
saying,  since  rumor  has  it,  and  one  never  knows  what  to 
believe  of  such  bits  of  gossip,  that  you  and  Miss  Parsons 
quarreled  and  that  she  is  shortly  to  be  married  to  Scott 
Stevens.  Louise  also  is  my  guest." 

Mark  laughed,  not  bitterly,  nor  contemptuously;  yet 
when  he  spoke  there  was  a  slightly  sardonic  expression  about 
his  lips.  "Then  I  will  not  appear  —  for  your  sake  only, 
and  possibly  for  hers,  although  she  would  no  doubt  take  the 
situation  calmly."  Again  he  laughed. 

"You  take  your  wounds  merrily.  I  see  my  kindly  com- 
miseration was  all  wasted." 

"My  wounds?  Ah,  you  see  mine  as  well  as  hers  were 
soon  healed.  I  would  like  to  propound  one  question,  how- 
ever, to  any  one  wise  enough  to  answer  it.  How  came  Scott 


MRS.  RENOLDS  DISCOVERS  A  MYSTERY    339 

Stevens,  who  is  not  gifted  with  great  originality,  to  succeed 
in  persuading  her  to  what  I  could  not?" 

"I  may  not  quite  catch  your  meaning.  To  marry  him, 
when  you  could  not  persuade  her  to  marry  you  ?  To  me,  I 
confess,  that  is  one  of  life's  mysteries."  The  soft  pallor  of 
Mrs.  Renolds'  face  gave  way  to  a  shade  only  of  pink. 

Mark  hastened  to  explain.  "Not  at  all !  Not  at  all !  I 
put  my  question  badly.  I  mean  how  did  he  manage  to 
persuade  her  to  go  through  the  conventional  form  of  mar- 
riage, a  ceremony  which  is  meant  not  for  enlightened  souls 
such  as  she  chose  to  consider  hers  and  mine,  but  f  for  the 
vulgar  herd '  ?  " 

"You  mystify  me,  Mr.  Thorn.  Oh,  yes.  She  was  de- 
voted to  some  kind  of  cult  —  I  have  forgotten  what  — 

"She  had  been  listening  to  some  damned  nonsense,  and 
when  she  refused  to  join  '  the  vulgar  herd '  and  marry  me  in 
the  good  old  style,  I  mildly  suggested  that  I  join  her  cult 
and  that  we  follow  her  new,  or  ancient  faith  to  its  finish,  and 
I  take  her  without." 

"Mr.  Thorn!" 

"But  this  she  also  refused,  with  the  exclamation  point 
such  as  you  have  just  used,  but  —  there  you  are.  She  re- 
fused to  believe  in  marriage  with  any  mundane  form  requir- 
ing the  intervention  of  priest  or  magistrate,  yet  she  could 
not  live  up  to  her  faith.  I  say,  why  have  a  faith  if  you  can- 
not live  up  to  it  ?  " 

"You  should  not  have  humored  her  whim,  Mr.  Thorn. 
Louise  Parsons  is  a  woman  who  would  respect  a  man  in 
proportion  to  his  ability  to  dominate  her.  Now  Mr.  Stevens 
is  eminently  conventional.  In  his  life  he  may  have  gone  at 
times  a  little  beyond  the  pale;  indeed,  I  have  been  told 


340  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

he  has;  but  even  so,  he  would  only  do  the  conventionally 
incorrect  thing  which  society  allows  and  throws  a  mantle 
over,  but,  mind  you,  Louise  must  do  only  the  correct  thing 
if  she  becomes  Mrs.  Stevens." 

Mark  turned  on  her  with  suddenly  illumined  face.  "In 
other  words,  Louise  is  stopping  with  you,  and  buying  her 
trousseau,  and  having  a  generally  good  time,  according  to 
a  conventional  young  lady's  ideas  of  a  good  time,  and  you  — 
you  choose  to  say  merely  —  'it  is  rumored'  and  'one  never 
knows  how  much  to  believe  of  such  gossip.'  Pardon  me  — 
Why  did  you  not  tell  me  the  truth?" 

"It  was  a  ladylike  subterfuge,  Mr.  Thorn." 

"But  why,  pray  ?  A  man  would  have  dealt  out  the  truth 
in  one  sledge-hammer  blow.  '  That  girl  of  yours,  the  one 
who  jilted  you,  is  at  our  house  buying  her  wedding  garments. 
She  is  to  marry  that  pig  of  a  Stevens  who  so  cleverly  stepped 
into  your  shoes.  They  are  to  take  their  wedding  journey 
in  his  yacht,  sailing  up  and  down  the  Mediterranean.  I  tell 
you,  Thorn,  if  you  wish  a  beautiful  woman,  put  money  in 
thy  purse.' " 

"Mr.  Thorn,  that  is  brutal." 

"Yes  —  and  the  facts  are  brutal.  I  am  that  fool  of  a 
Jacob  who  served  seven  years  for  his  love.  Why,  I  ask  for 
psychologic  reasons,  did  you  cover  the  truth  with  a  mere 
side  glance  at  it?" 

"To  spare  you,  Mr.  Thorn.  I  wished  to  wound  as  little 
as  possible." 

"Ah,  but  the  sledge-hammer  blow  wounds  less  because 
it  only  stuns,  and  still  spares  a  man's  self-respect,  while  as 
for  the  other  —  it  takes  a  keen  knife  to  cut  a  man's  heart 
out." 


MRS.   RENOLDS  DISCOVERS  A  MYSTERY    341 

"Thank  you,  Mr.  Thorn.  You  have  taught  me  some- 
thing —  and  yet,  believe  me,  my  only  thought  was  to  spare 
you." 

"That  is  it.  You  thought  I  needed  sparing,  which  wounds 
a  man's  self-love." 

"Forgive  me." 

"Mrs.  Renolds !"  he  cried,  waking  to  sudden  contrition, 
"  it  is  I  who  should  ask  that.  I  have  been  brutal.  I  did 
need  sparing.  My  mood  turned  me  into  a  savage  and  I 
struck  at  you,  manlike.  As  I  said  before,  we  are  brutal. 
However,  you  can  believe  me  when  I  tell  you  that  the  wound 
is  healed.  You  and  I  between  us  had  managed  to  dig  up  the 
corpse  of  my  dead  love,  which  I  thought  was  buried  beyond 
our  depth,  and  it  was  not  fragrant  —  forgive  me  again,  but 
you  have  also  helped  to  reinter  it  more  effectually.  The 
grave  is  heaped  mountains  high  with  the  world's  earth-clods." 

They  rode  on  for  a  time  in  silence ;  at  last  she  uttered  the 
thought  that  had  lain  in  her  heart  during  their  whole  con- 
versation. "  May  I  ask  who  has  been  your  physician  ? 
You  say  your  wound  is  healed,  and  so  soon,  yet  you  do  not 
look  like  one  who  has  fully  recovered  —  from  —  something." 

"The  physician  was  —  to  tell  the  truth  I  have  had  no 
physician.  I  simply  made  the  discovery  that  I  have  been 
saved.  I  might  have  been  married  ere  this  to  a  combina- 
tion of  line  and  color  —  to  an  artist's  conception.  Like 
old  Andrea  Del  Sarto,  I  might  have  been  whining  out  my 
complaint  by  this  time,  that  were  it  not  for  my  wife  I  could 
be  doing  great  things  in  my  art.  When  I  was  with  Louise, 
my  senses  were  always  filled  with  her  beauty.  I  have 
learned  that  such  a  condition  is  not  love,  and  that  of  itself 
is  a  wholesome  lesson.  Her  charms  appealed  to  my  aesthetic 


342  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

sense,  not  to  my  soul,  hence  my  real  wound  has  been  to  my 
vanity  —  to  find  a  worse  man  amply  filling  my  place  in  her 
heart  —  and  —  but  you  see  I  mean  what  I  say,  except  for 
this  last,  my  wounds  are  healed  indeed."  He  looked  wearily 
off  through  the  vistas  of  the  park.  A  robin  sang  his  fitful 
note  in  a  clump  of  shrubbery.  He  gave  no  heed  either  to 
bird  songs  or  to  the  loveliness  of  the  spring,  and  Mrs. 
Renolds  perceived  that  neither  was  he  thinking  of  her. 

"I  will  take  you  back  now,"  she  said,  "but  really  I  think 
you  ought  to  stop  work  and  rest.  You  were  in  your  studio 
half  of  last  summer,  you  know.  Go  abroad,  Mr.  Thorn." 

"  You  are  most  kind  to  think  of  my  condition  or  happiness 
at  all.  Shall  you  go  abroad  this  summer?" 

Her  face  brightened.  "I  had  not  thought  of  it  —  yet  I 
may." 

"Ah?  Possibly  I  may  go  abroad  —  but  that  depends." 
He  was  again  thinking  of  Joyful.  If  only  he  could  find  her. 
"How  long  does  Miss  Parsons  remain  with  you  ?"  he  asked, 
as  they  parted. 

"I  think  only  a  week  longer." 

"I  will  call  on  the  Van  Burghs  then,  if  they  are  still  with 
you;  if  not  — 

"I  shall  be  there,  of  course,"  she  said  smilingly.  "I 
am  usually  having  tea  every  afternoon  about  the  time  artists 
are  leaving  their  work  for  lack  of  light." 

"  Good.  I  will  put  on  a  pleasanter  face  than  I  have  worn 
to-day,  and  come  to  you  for  tea." 

During  the  week  which  followed  this  conversation,  Mark 
received  word  from  Tom  Bings,  whom  he  had  so  far  won 
over  to  his  cause  by  sundry  fees  as  to  induce  him  to  attempt 
to  get  from  his  wife  some  information  concerning  Joyful, 


MRS.  RENOLDS  DISCOVERS  A  MYSTERY    343 

that  the  family  with  whom  she  lived  contemplated  spending 
a  year  abroad,  and  were  to  take  her  with  them.  This  put 
Mark  in  an  agitated  frame  of  mind,  so  much  so  that  he 
incautiously  wrote  the  janitor  that  he  must  learn  the  name 
of  the  people  and  the  date  of  their  sailing.  This  letter  the 
ever  watchful  Mrs.  Bings  one  day  found  in  her  husband's 
coat  pocket,  and  without  the  slightest  compunction,  read. 
Then  was  let  loose  on  poor  Bings  a  torrent  of  righteous 
indignation. 

"  Oh,  I  know  you  men,  you  're  all  alike.  You,  Tom  Bings  ! 
My  'usband,  selling  that  girl's  soul  for  a  few  dollars  to  carry 
around  in  your  dirty  pocket.  I  suppose  'e  thinks  'e  '11  go 
along  to  Europe  with  'er,  but  it  won't  do  him  any  good,  I 
can  tell  'im  that  right  'ere  and  now.  I  've  put  a  flea  in 
'er  ear.  It  would  n't  do  'im  any  good  if  'e  sailed  in  the  same 
boat  with  'er  to  the  North  Pole.  She  's  just  one  of  the  kind, 
you  might  tear  'er  'eart  out  of  her,  poor  little  thing,  with 
you  two  men  'ounding  'er  to  earth.  I  Ve  told  'er  what  'e 
is  over  and  over.  I  've  'card  enough  of  the  goings  on  of 
those  artists,  and  'e 's  one  of  them,  and  the  way  'e  looked 
at  me  you  'd  have  thought  'e  was  Satan  'imself ,  and  you, 
Tom  Bings,  a-throwing  'er  over  to  'im.  That 's  what  I  call 
makin'  straight  for  fire  and  brimstone  on  your  own  two 
legs,  of  your  own  free  will,  spite  of  all  I  can  do,  'olding  on 
to  your  coat-tails  to  keep  you  back,  and  takin'  'er  along  with 
you  and  shovin'  'er  in.  But  I  '11  save  'er.  'E  '11  never  get 
'er." 

Tom  moved  about  the  room  sulkily,  filling  his  pipe  and 
muttering.  At  last  he  ventured  to  interrupt  her  steady 
flow  of  words.  "You  think  you  are  doing  her  a  good  turn, 
do  you  ?  Well,  I  can  tell  you  you  're  keeping  her  out  of  a 


344  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

good  home,  that 's  what  you  're  doing.    I  can  see  as  far 
through  a  millstone  as  you  can." 

"Oh,  you  can,  can  you?  'Ow  came  he  to  find  'er? 
Wat  business  'ad  'e  there?  I  can  put  two  and  two  to- 
gether without  seeing  through  any  millstones.  I  understand 
the  wickedness  and  infamy  of  men.  But,  thank  goodness  ! 
I  won't  'ave  to  be  watchdog  for  'er  much  longer.  Come 
first  o'  June  she  '11  be  safe,  and  'e  can  stand  on  shore  and 
w'istle  for  'er.  'E  don't  know  the  name  of  the  family  she  's 
with,  and  'e  don't  know  the  flame  o'  the  boat  she  goes  on, 
and  'e  don't  know  if  they  're  sailing  from  Boston  or  New 
York.  I  've  read  in  my  papers  and  I  know  w'at  men  '11  do 
to  get  their  own  way,  'nd  what  dreadful  crimes  they'll 
commit.  There  's  the  very  last  number  of  the  Woman's 
Kingdom  tells  about  a  man  who  took  his  girl  up  to  the  top 
of  a  church,  and  cut  'er  all  to  pieces.  There  !  Tom  Bings. 
You  take  your  pipe  out  of  'ere.  No  lighting  it  in  my 
presence.  I  've  told  you  till  I  'm  worn  out  talking,  if  you 
will  hang  on  to  your  sinful  indulgences,  take  yourself  off 
w'ere  there  are  no  women  to  be  insulted  by  them.  Tobacco 
is  an  offense  to  any  good  woman's  nostrils." 

Then  Tom  Bings  did  as  he  was  told.  He  took  himself 
off  to  the  nearest  saloon,  and  there  ordered  beer  to  go  with 
his  pipe,  and  sat  himself  down  in  peace  to  indite  a  letter  to 
Mark,  containing  the  last  bit  of  news  he  had  gathered  from 
his  wife's  remarks,  after  this  manner:  — 
"MR.  H.  THORN,  ESQ.  : 

"DEAR  SIR,  I've  done  all  I  can,  and  this  is  the  last. 
The  old  woman  found  your  letter  asking  for  information  in 
my  pocket,  and  jumped  on  me.  She  's  been  buzzing  at  me 
ever  since  like  an  alarm  clock,  and  I  don't  expect  her  to 


MRS.  RENOLDS  DISCOVERS  A  MYSTERY    345 

run  down  for  a  week.  She  's  an  eight-day  one.  But  this 
much  she  let  out.  The  family  are  to  sail  first  of  June 
sometime.  Moreover,  their  name  is  Burt.  I  saw  the  girl 
walking  into  a  store  with  the  kids  the  other  day,  and  I  got 
the  little  chap  by  himself  and  asked  his  name.  He  said 
Harry  Burt.  Then  I  asked  his  father's  name,  and  he  said 
George ;  and  then  I  asked  him  where  he  lived,  and  he  said 
something,  I  could  n't  tell  just  what,  but  it 's  in  the  big-bug 
part  of  Boston  —  I  could  see  that  by  the  turnout.  The 
girl  called  him  then,  and  they  climbed  into  a  rig  and  drove 
off,  so  that  is  all  for  the  present. 

"Yours  truly, 

"T.  BlNGS. 

"P.S.    Better  let  up  on  letter  writing." 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

A  CHANCE  MEETING 

"  We  met  there  face  to  face : 
I  said  the  crown  should  fall  from  thee ;  once  more 
We  meet  as  in  that  ghastly  vestibule : 
Look  to  my  brow  !    Have  I  redeemed  my  pledge  ?  " 

TRUE  to  her  word,  Marie  Vaile  returned  in  a  week.  She 
was  accompanied  by  a  sad-eyed,  apathetic  young  mother 
with  a  babe  in  her  arms 

"I  have  brought  the  child,  Mr.  Thorn,"  she  said,  "and  the 
mother  will  wait  here  until  you  are  through,  and  when  you 
wish  it  she  will  bring  it  again."  Then  Marie  stepped  nearer 
him  and  spoke  in  a  low  voice.  "  She  is  a  poor  unfortunate 
I  found  in  the  street.  I  have  been  caring  for  them  and 
feeding  them  up  all  the  week  to  get  the  baby  in  better 
condition.  I  do  hope  you  can  use  the  child.  She  needs 
the  money."  The  baby  gazed  up  at  Mark  with  great,  un- 
winking eyes.  It  had  been  well  fed  and  lay  quiet  in  placid 
content.  "I  can  make  it  smile,  see?"  and  Marie  bent 
over  it,  smiling  herself,  and  touching  its  cheek  with  the  tip 
of  her  finger,  and  the  child  twisted  its  face  into  a  weird  little 
grin.  Marie  looked  appealingly  in  Mark's  eyes,  and  he 
saw  she  wished  him  to  use  the  wan  little  baby  from  pity. 

"Oh,  yes.  The  child  will  do  finely.  It  has  big  dark 
eyes,  you  see." 

"Yes.    I   thought  of  the  eyes,"  cried  Marie,   gladly. 

346 


A  CHANCE  MEETING  347 

Then  she  took  the  mother  and  babe  into  the  dressing  room, 
and  when  she  returned,  both  Marie  and  the  child  were 
transformed.  On  the  bosom  of  her  own  dress  she  had 
fashioned  a  scarlet  letter  of  fine  cloth  and  gold  embroidery. 
She  carried  the  baby  in  her  arms,  and  the  little  one  looked 
indeed  a  veritable  witch  child,  its  small  old  face  framed  in  a 
close  cap  with  tiny  peak  at  the  top,  and  turned  open  at  the 
sides  with  lace  revers.  Its  black  elf-locks  escaped  the  con- 
finement of  the  cap  over  the  forehead  and  temples,  and 
surrounded  its  wan  face,  while  its  great  eyes  shone  out  like 
cairngorms  under  the  dark  fringe.  Marie  had  fashioned 
the  child's  dress  after  a  quaint  old  pattern  of  a  dark  red- 
brown  stuff  —  the  hems  edged  with  very  narrow  gold  bands. 
The  waist  fitted  the  small  body.  It  was  low  at  the  neck, 
and  the  close  sleeves  ended  at  the  elbow. 

Her  own  dress  was  of  a  changeable  material,  silken  in 
texture,  a  dull  old  blue  with  shifting  lights  that  seemed  to 
throw  out  gleams  now  of  green  and  now  of  gold ;  and  the 
skirt,  gathered  to  a  cord  at  the  pointed  waistline,  hung  in 
long,  soft  folds  and  wrinkled  about  her  feet.  Her  rich  hair 
lay  in  shining  waves  about  her  face,  and  she  had  drawn  it 
high  at  the  back  and  fastened  the  soft  coils  at  the  crown  of 
her  head  with  an  ornate,  gold-tipped  shell  comb.  Her 
sleeves  were  close  at  the  wrists  and  so  long  as  to  cover  all 
of  her  hands  but  the  beautiful  fingers,  on  one  of  which  she 
wore  a  costly  jewel.  The  gown  was  cut  away  from  the 
throat,  and  her  slender  neck  with  its  delicate  curves  rose 
in  translucent  whiteness  above  it.  She  stood  a  moment 
with  her  birdlike  poise  of  the  head,  looking  at  Mark,  hold- 
ing the  child  on  one  arm,  the  other  dropped  straight  at  her 
side.  She  did  not  smile,  —  her  manner  seemed  more  that 


348  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

of  one  leading  a  forlorn  hope,  and  her  eyes  questioned  him 
in  silence. 

Mark  looked  at  her  a  moment,  taking  in  every  detail, 
then  he  said,  "You  are  an  artist,  Miss  Vaile,  and  a  daring 
one." 

She  smiled,  and  after  an  instant  replied,  "I  know  it." 

Then  Mark  thought,  as  he  often  did,  how  Joyful  had 
once  objected  to  his  smile,  and  now  he  understood  it  as  he 
had  not  before.  He  took  Marie's  hand  and  led  her  to  a 
raised  dais  in  a  far  corner  of  his  studio,  where  the  light  fell 
warmly  over  her.  "Stand  here  a  moment  and  we  will 
talk  it  over,"  he  said.  "  Stand  just  as  you  did  at  first.  Is 
the  child  heavy?" 

"No." 

Then  Mark  sat  silent  before  her,  and  the  moments 
passed.  Presently  he  took  his  pencil  and  began  to  work. 
At  last  he  asked,  "Why,  then,  did  you  not  make  it  your 
profession  ?  " 

"Make  what  my  profession,  Mr.  Thorn?" 

"Art.  I  said  you  are  an  artist,  and  you  said  'I  know  it.' 
Now  I  ask,  why  did  you  not  make  it  your  profession?" 

A  tremor  passed  over  her,  and  suddenly  her  expression 
became  what  he  was  looking  for  —  at  least  it  was  a  mood, 
he  might  find  others  better,  but  would  have  this.  Her  eyes 
burned  with  a  warm  glow  while  she  looked,  not  at  him,  but 
at  something  beyond  him. 

"Oh,  I  was  artist  enough  by  nature  —  to  do  —  to  do  — 
what  most  artists  do,  only  I  did  not  wait  to  achieve  some- 
thing in  art  first,  like  most  of  you.     I  did  n't  even  know  I 
was  an  artist.    I  thought  I  was  nothing  but  a  lonely  girl, 
and—" 


A  CHANCE  MEETING  349 

She  paused,  while  he  worked  rapidly  for  a  few  moments, 
then  he  said,  "Go  on,  Miss  Vaile,  tell  me  more."  Although 
seemingly  absorbed  in  his  work,  his  manner  was  interested 
and  kindly,  and  she  spoke  again,  not  as  if  giving  a  confidence, 
but  as  in  soliloquy. 

"My  life  was  dull  —  it  was  meanly  dull.  I  thought  I 
had  found  a  joy  in  it.  I  stopped  making  tea  every  after- 
noon for  stupid  old  women  and  curates,  I  —  I  tried  to  seize 
the  joy,  and—  The  baby  in  her  arms  grew  restless. 
She  shifted  it  a  little,  and  it  leaned  its  head  on  her  shoulder 
and  thrust  its  small  hand  in  the  neck  of  her  dress.  A 
burning  flush  suffused  her  face  for  the  first  time  at  the  touch 
of  the  baby  hand.  Mark  looked  up  and  then  bent  eagerly 
to  his  work. 

"And  what  then?"  he  asked. 

"I  had  a  dream.  I  thought  it  was  real,  but  it  was  not, 
—  and  then  —  even  when  I  knew  it  was  not,  I  still  believed 
in  it,  —  because  it  was  beautiful.  I  thought  I  could  make 
it  become  real  —  could  make  it  true.  I  threw  away  every- 
thing for  it  —  my  very  soul  I  cast  away  —  and  —  and  I 
was  swept  into  a  maelstrom  and  was  lost  —  and — now, 
now  I  am  here  posing  for  this."  She  touched  the  letter 
on  her  bosom. 

Eagerly,  fiercely  Mark  worked,  while  the  silence  of  the 
room  remained  unbroken.  The  child  fell  asleep  on  her 
shoulder  just  as  it  lay,  one  hand  thrust  in  her  dress,  the 
other  small  fist  in  its  mouth.  At  last  Mark  took  notice  of 
her  that  she  had  grown  deathly  white.  His  heart  smote  him, 
and  he  sprang  forward  and  caught  the  child  from  her,  and 
placing  one  arm  about  her  waist  he  supported  her  to  a  couch. 

"Here,  take  it,"  he  said,  dropping  the  baby  in  its  mother's 


350  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

lap.  Then  he  brought  water  and  bathed  Marie's  forehead 
and  temples,  and  gave  her  wine.  She  seized  the  glass  and 
drank  eagerly,  and  again  Mark  thought  of  how  he  had  seen 
her  on  that  terrible  evening  when  he  had  found  Joyful  but 
to  lose  her  again.  He  put  the  bottle  away  and  gave  her 
no  more,  although  he  saw  her  eyes  follow  it  furtively.  The 
baby  woke  and  cried,  and  the  mother  hushed  it,  rocking  it 
to  and  fro  in  her  arms,  and  it  grew  still. 

Mark  went  back  to  his  easel,  and  soon  became  lost  to 
everything  but  his  work,  rapt  in  his  theme.  He  was  seeing 
in  his  mind  the  expression  Marie's  face  had  worn  when  she 
said  "I  had  a  dream.  I  thought  it  was  real,  but  it  was  not." 
At  last  he  rose  and  walked  back  to  study  his  canvas,  and 
Marie  srtood  beside  him,  dressed  for  the  street,  while  the 
young  mother  waited  at  the  door. 

"  I  must  go  now,  Mr.  Thorn.    When  shall  I  come  again  ?  " 

"To-morrow  morning." 

Marie  looked  down.  Her  lips  were  feverish  and  her  eyes 
burned.  "I  can't  come  to-morrow,"  she  said  in  a  low  voice, 
"and  maybe  not  the  day  after.  May  we  say  Thursday?" 

"I  wish  to  get  on  as  rapidly  as  possible."  Mark  was 
saddened,  for  he  guessed  why  she  refused  to  come  for  two 
days.  "Won't  you  try  to  come  to-morrow?  This  has 
been  a  severe  siege,  I  know,  Miss  Vaile,  but  I  will  be  more 
considerate  hereafter.  You  shall  not  pose  more  than 
fifteen  minutes  at  a  time.  You  must  pardon  me  for  this. 
I  —  I  forgot  you  were  made  of  flesh  and  blood  and  could 
grow  weary." 

She  laughed.     "I  wish  I  were  made  of  stone,"  she  said. 

"You  will  try  to  be  here  to-morrow,"  he  pleaded. 

"It  will  be  impossible,  Mr.  Thorn,"  she  said  imperiously. 


A  CHANCE  MEETING  351 

"I  prefer  to  set  a  day  I  know  I  can  keep.  Shall  we  say 
Thursday?" 

"Very  well,"  he  said,  but  still  looked  gravely  and  intently 
at  her.  She  felt  herself  held  by  his  eyes,  and  became 
embarrassed,  dreading  lest  he  divine  her  reason.  She 
turned  and  gazed  at  the  canvas. 

"You  have  done  wonders  in  so  short  a  time,"  she  said. 
"You  will  soon  have  finished,  Mr.  Thorn."  But  he  did 
not  reply.  "I  am  glad  you  did  n't  disapprove  of  the  dress. 
I  see  you  have  kept  the  colors.  I  searched  half  over  New 
York  for  just  that  material,  and  where  do  you  think  I 
found  it  at  last?" 

"I  can't  imagine." 

"In  a  furniture  shop,  where  antiques  are  manufactured." 
They  both  laughed,  and  the  tension  of  his  mood  was  broken, 
as  she  wished  it  to  be. 

"And  where  did  you  get  your  design?" 

"From  an  old  portrait  that  hangs  in  the  hall  at  home  in 
England.  It  was  one  of  my  ancestors,  and  they  were 
reformers,  so  I  thought  I  might  use  it,  only  I  have  chosen 
a  color  that  makes  the  scarlet  more  vivid.  You  remember 
the  text  says,  'Her  dress  was  of  a  splendor  which  was  in 
accordance  with  the  taste  of  the  age,  and  beyond  what  was 
allowed  by  the  rules  of  the  colony,'  so  I  chose  something  as 
rich  as  I  could  get  in  material." 

"You  were  quite  right  in  your  conception  —  but  —  are 
you  caring  for  this  woman?"  He  glanced  toward  the 
mother  of  the  babe. 

"Yes,  I  must  —  we  might  lose  them  else,  and  anyway 
she  might  die.  It  was  wretched  where  I  found  them." 
Marie  shivered. 


352  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

"No  doubt,"  said  Mark.  "Such  things  are  awful." 
He  thrust  some  bills  in  her  hand.  "Come,  Miss  Vaile, 
you  must  be  at  no  expense  for  this,  and  later  we  will  settle  for 
all  your  pains.  Be  here  to-morrow,  if  you  can  —  and  —  if 
not,  come  as  soon  as  possible.  I  am  always  here  in  the 
morning." 

Thus  intermittently  the  work  progressed  until  the  ist 
of  June  was  nearly  at  hand.  While  Mark  was  engrossed 
in  his  art,  and  the  one  thought  that  possessed  him,  many 
things  were  transpiring  in  which  he  was  vaguely  interested. 
Indeed,  all  events  save  his  purposeful  labor  and  his  love 
for  Joyful  receded  from  him.  Even  to  know  that  his  old 
love  had  married  and  gone  on  her  wedding  journey  stirred 
him  only  to  a  quiet  smile. 

"And  they  didn't  take  the  Mediterranean  trip,  after  all. 
They  are  gone  but  for  a  few  weeks,  no  one  knows  where, 
and  this  summer  they  will  take  a  yachting  party  to  the 
Land  of  the  Midnight  Sun,"  said  Mrs.  Renolds,  as  she 
handed  Mark  his  tea  one  afternoon.  She  was  the  only  one 
who  kept  him  in  touch  with  his  former  world,  although  his 
visits  to  her  were  infrequent,  and  she  never  appeared  in  his 
studio  unless  to  bring  friends. 

"Ah,  why  did  they  change?"  Mark  gazed  vaguely 
through  the  long  vista  of  Mrs.  Renolds'  drawing-room  as 
seen  from  the  small  Turkish  nook  where  her  guests  usually 
accepted  tea  from  her  deft  hand.  None  poured  tea  with  a 
prettier  grace  than  Mrs.  Renolds. 

"How  could  I  know?  How  does  any  one  ever  know 
why  Louise  does  things?" 

"Are  you  quite  sure  the  change  of  plan  was  her  sugges- 
tion?" 


A  CHANCE  MEETING  353 

"No.  But  it  is  like  her  to  do  some  erratic  thing  at  the 
last  moment,  like  going  off  on  this  queer  wedding  journey 
and  making  everything  very  mysterious.  I  believe  we 
agreed,  did  n't  we,  you  and  I,  that  her  motives  are  usually 
unaccountable,  like  this  whole  matter  of  marrying  Scott 
Stevens,  after  all  her  high  and  poetic  aspirations  —  her 
longings  and  soul  quivers,  and  throes,  to  turn  about  so 
suddenly  and  marry  the  most  conventional — Ah,  well !  — 
Mrs.  Renolds  ceased  speaking,  and  sighed  with  a  little 
shake  of  the  head.  Mark  seldom  mentioned  Louise, 
never  unless  she  introduced  the  topic  in  a  clever  way  she 
had.  She  could  not  yet  determine  whether  the  indefinable 
barrier  between  herself  and  the  artist  was  because  his 
wounds  were  not  so  fully  healed  as  he  implied,  or  whether 
his  experience  had  led  him  to  clothe  himself  hereafter  in 
armor  which  should  be  impervious  to  Cupid's  darts.  How- 
ever, Louise  as  a  topic  of  conversation  seemed  to  give  a 
tone  of  intimacy  to  their  companionship  which  nothing 
else  afforded,  and  Mrs.  Renolds  did  not  resist  its  intrusion. 
Now  she  paused,  since  Mark  evidently  had  lost  interest 
for  the  moment,  still  dreamily  sipping  his  tea,  and  gazing 
as  if  he  saw  something  at  the  end  of  the  vista  of  her  drawing- 
room.  She  even  glanced  out  into  the  conservatory  herself ; 
then,  as  he  put  down  his  empty  cup,  arrested  his  departure 
with  the  query:  — 

"Why  do  you  think  it  might  not  be  her  suggestion? 
Won't  you  smoke?  You  know  I  never  dislike  your  ciga- 
rettes." 

"From  something  that  occurred  in  my  studio  just  before 
the  wedding.  Thanks,  it  is  awfully  good  of  you  to  let  me 
smoke  here." 


354  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

Mrs.  Renolds,  with  wide  eyes  and  parted  lips,  leaned 
forward  and  looked  at  him  and  shook  her  head.  "In  your 
studio !  What  do  you  mean,  Mr.  Thorn  —  were  they 
there?" 

"It  was  while  Louise  was  with  you  —  did  she  not  tell 
you?" 

Mrs.  Renolds  did  not  attempt  to  conceal  her  surprise. 
She  thought  it  the  height  of  indelicacy  for  Louise  to  take  the 
successful  man  to  her  former  lover's  studio.  Why  did  she 
do  it?  Mark  saw  the  question  in  those  dark,  lifted  eye- 
brows. He  saw  also  the  criticism,  and,  willing  to  save 
Louise  from  adverse  comment,  he  explained. 

"It  was  for  my  aunt's  sake.  She  is  unduly  fond  of  us 
both,  you  know,  so  we  patched  up  a  truce  between  us,  and 
I  invited  Louise  to  bring  Scott  and  select  their  wedding 
gift,  and  she  was  gracious  enough  to  accept  my  courtesy, 
and  also  to  tell  me  she  had  never  been  great  enough  for  me 
and  all  that  kind  of  thing.  Hereafter  my  aunt's  home  is  to 
be  our  common  meeting  ground,  where  everything  is  to  be 
amicable  and  our  intercourse  set  back  as  far  as  possible  on 
the  old  footing  of  camaraderie.'.' 

"How  wise  you  are,  and  how  patient,  Mr.  Thorn!" 
In  her  heart  she  said,  "And  what  a  blind  fool  Louise  has 
been!" 

Yet  Mrs.  Renolds  with  her  millions  was  not  really  com- 
petent to  judge  and  properly  weigh  the  motives  which  might 
influence  another  woman  with  no  millions,  since  her  care 
was  not  so  much  how  to  acquire  them  as  how  to  bestow 
them;  while  Mark  Thorn,  for  the  moment  smoking 
and  seeing  visions,  was  thinking  of  neither  possibility. 
Certainly,  although  he  enjoyed  Mrs.  Renolds  and  appre- 


A  CHANCE  MEETING  355 

dated  her  friendship,  he  was  quite  evidently  not  seeking 
her  fortune,  and  she,  wise  woman,  in  spite  of  her  liking  for 
Mark,  was  well  pleased  to  cloak  that  regard  with  simple 
good  fellowship,  until  she  could  make  him  think  of  her 
with  more  active  sentiment,  and  at  the  same  time  imagine 
the  initiative  his  own.  She  would  never  allow  a  man  to 
know  himself  led  to  his  wooing.  She  would  go  unwooed 
else,  and  allow  neither  him  nor  the  world  to  guess  at  a 
warmer  regard  in  her. 

Tentatively  her  eyes  now  followed  the  direction  of  Mark's 
gaze,  and  they  both  sat  silent.  Then,  "But  I  interrupted 
you,"  she  said.  "What  occurred  in  your  studio?  I  am 
very  curious." 

"That  is  hard  to  tell  you.  I  don't  really  know,  myself. 
It  was  not  any  particular  event,  it  was  more  an  atmosphere 
that  permeated  the  moment.  The  place  seemed  charged 
with  electric  disturbance,  indefinable,  and  apparently 
generated  without  cause  —  at  least,  as  far  as  Louise  and  I 
were  concerned.  I  had  a  model  and  was  stupidly  busy,  so 
I  let  them  prowl  around  as  they  liked.  I  heard  him  say 
something  about  finding  the  Mediterranean  trip  impossible, 
and  heard  her  cry  of  surprise  and  disappointment,  and  then 
suddenly  I  became  aware  of  the  charged  atmosphere,  and 
that  is  all.  They  saw  my  model,  and  knew,  of  course,  that 
I  was  engrossed,  so  stayed  but  a  short  time." 

Mark  had  contrived  a  wide  ell  from  the  main  part  of  his 
studio  as  his  workroom,  which,  while  it  could  be  seen  from 
some  parts  of  the  larger  portion  of  the  place,  had  still  the 
appearance  of  being  secluded  for  private  uses.  On  the  dais 
of  the  alcove  in  this  ell  Marie  posed  for  Mark's  conception 
of  Hester  Prynne.  His  more  familiar  guests  frequently 


356  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

strolled  about  the  rest  of  his  studio  at  their  idle  pleasure, 
while  Mark,  oftentimes  unheeding  their  coming  or  going, 
worked  on  at  his  easel  in  his  own  corner.  The  imaginary 
line  that  separated  them  from  him  was  seldom  crossed,  or 
his  labor  interrupted,  except  by  special  invitation. 

It  was  one  rainy  April  morning,  not  long  before  the 
wedding,  that  Scott  Stevens  and  Louise  made  their  visit 
to  the  studio.  Mark  had  expected  them  for  several  days, 
and  had  placed  in  view  some  of  his  most  attractive  studies, 
from  which  Louise  was  to  make  her  selection. 

"You  are  to  take  all  the  liberty  you  please  here,"  said 
Mark.  "If  you  don't  care  for  any  of  these 'finished  pieces, 
here  is  a  portfolio  full  of  studies  from  which  to  select,  and 
in  the  meantime  I  will  go  on  with  my  work.  Say  what  you 
please  about  them.  I  shall  be  oblivious." 

"You  are  too  dear,  Mark.  Do  you  mean  I  am  to  have 
anything  I  please  of  all  these  ?  How  lovely !  We  must 
study  them  very  carefully,  Scott,  and  you  must  help  me. 
I  want  Mark  to  think  I  have  made  a  good  choice.  Yes, 
indeed,  Mark,  go  back,  don't  let  us  interrupt  you." 

So  Mark  returned  to  his  easel,  and  Marie  Vaile,  who  had 
sat  unheeding  what  was  passing,  resting  in  a  curtained 
niche,  rose  and  took  her  position  on  the  dais  with  the  baby 
on  her  arm,  and  the  work  went  on. 

Louise  was  very  beautiful  that  morning,  with  a  stately, 
classic  beauty.  The  long  lines  and  soft  coloring  of  her 
perfect  gown  emphasized  the  grace  of  her  figure,  and  the 
delicate  opal  tints  of  her  complexion.  She  was  content 
with  herself,  and  glad  that  Mark  was  dear  and  reasonable 
about  the  whole  thing.  While  she  moved  from  picture  to 
picture,  studying  each  one  earnestly,  Scott  watched  her 


A  CHANCE  MEETING  357 

with  unconcealed  admiration.  He  was  actively  affable 
and  prone  to  agree  with  all  she  said. 

Presently  she  paused  before  one  of  the  finished  pieces,  a 
smooth  bay  with  gay  craft  mirrored  in  it,  a  wonderful  arch 
of  sky,  and  all  in  a  glow  of  rose  and  gold  light  as  seen  through 
a  thin  veil  of  sunset- tin  ted  mist.  "Oh,  this  is  charming. 
Look,  Scott !"  And  Scott  looked,  walking  slowly  backward 
to  get  a  perfect  view.  Suddenly,  as  though  drawn  by  a 
magnet  he  turned  his  face  away  from  the  picture  toward 
Mark's  corner,  and  found  himself  gazing  into  Marie's  eyes, 
which  burned  and  glowed  through  his  conventional  mask, 
eating  their  way  into  his  soul  like  fire,  until  he  seemed  to 
turn  to  ashes  in  their  blaze. 

Louise  knelt  before  the  picture,  absorbed  in  its  beauty, 
then  rose  and  moved  back,  making  two  rings  with  her 
gloved  hands  through  which  she  gazed,  shutting  off  sur- 
rounding objects. 

"Mark,  where  did  you  paint  this  wonderful  evening  sky 
and  water  piece  ?  " 

"  In  the  Bay  of  Naples.    Do  you  like  it  ?  " 

"Immensely!  Scott,  it  fires  me  with  enthusiasm  for 
our  Mediterranean  trip.  Shall  we  see  such  beauty  as  this 
there,  Scott?" 

A  quiver  passed  over  Marie's  frame.  She  held  the  child 
closer  until  it  cried  out,  even  as  the  child  had  cried  in  Hester 
Prynne's  arms,  while  Scott  still  gazed  in  her  eyes  and  at  the 
scarlet  letter  on  her  breast. 

As  he  did  not  reply,  Louise  looked  up  at  him.  "Scott," 
she  cried,  "are  you  ill?  Why  are  you  so  pale?" 

Mark  was  not  heeding  them.  He  had  seen  a  look  in 
Marie's  face  he  wished  to  paint  —  the  look  of  Hester 


358  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

Prynne  when  she  gazed  in  Arthur  Dimmesdale's  eyes  and 
refused  to  tell  the  name  of  the  father  of  her  child.  He 
wished  Scott  and  Louise  would  go,  that  he  might  work. 

"Scott,"  said  Louise  again,  and  laid  her  hand  on  his 
arm.  He  turned  and  walked  feebly  toward  the  picture. 
"Are  you  ill,  Scott?" 

Then  he  braced  himself,  and  the  color  returned  to  his 
face.  "No,  no  —  Only  a  passing  pain.  You  know, 
Louise,  I  can't  take  that  Mediterranean  trip.  I  am  sorry, 
if  it  will  disappoint  you." 

"Not  take  it !  But  you  said  you  would,  only  this  morn- 
ing—  not  ten  minutes  ago,  Scott.  Why  can't  you?  I 
am  disappointed." 

"I  thought  I  could  ten  minutes  ago,  but  now  it  comes 
over  me  that  I  cannot,  that  is  all."  He  seemed  to  speak 
roughly,  and  she  looked  up  in  his  face  in  surprise,  but  he 
smiled  down  at  her,  and  Scott  Stevens  knew  how  to  smile. 

"Then  —  then  I  shall  choose  this,"  she  answered,  look- 
ing at  the  picture,  "  if  I  am  never  to  see  Naples  from  the 
sea.  Mark,  this  will  have  to  be  my  Mediterranean  trip, 
and  you  will  have  given  it  to  me,  after  all,"  she  called  out 
to  him. 

"Thank  you,"  said  Mark.  "I  am  glad  you  chose  that 
one.  It  is  a  favorite  of  mine." 


CHAPTER  XXV 

SUNRISE  ON  A  HILLTOP 

"  For  sudden  the  worst  turns  the  best  to  the  brave, 

The  black  minute's  at  end, 
And  the  elements  rage,  the  fiend  voices  that  rave, 

Shall  dwindle,  shall  blend, 
Shall  change,  shall  become  a  peace  out  of  pain, 

Then  a  light,  then  thy  breast, 
O  thou  soul  of  my  soul !    I  shall  clasp  thee  again, 

And  with  God  be  at  rest ! " 

—  ROBERT  BROWNING. 

THE  time  arrived  at  last  which  Nathanael  Stoddard  had  so 
long  hoped  and  labored  for.  He  had  been  given  a  position 
of  importance  by  his  employers,  had  been  allowed  to  test 
and  perfect  his  invention  in  their  mines,  and  had,  after 
great  effort  and  unremitting  attention  to  their  interests, 
succeeded  in  securing  their  cooperation  in  its  manufacture 
and  introduction  in  other  places. 

Eleven  months  had  passed  since  he  had  left  his  sterile 
farm  and  already  he  found  himself  on  the  road  to  fortune. 
Given  the  opportunity,  he  had  had  the  brains  and  energy 
to  develop  the  possibilities.  That  which  had  been  stored 
up  within  him  while  he  was  patiently  toiling  over  his 
father's  stony  acres,  and  submitting  to  what  had  seemed 
to  him  at  the  time,  the  inevitable,  which  was  eating  his 
heart  out  during  those  years  of  slavery  and  dullness,  now 
that  it  was  let  loose  in  its  natural  field  of  activity  proved 
to  be  a  very  catapult  of  power. 

359 


360  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

"That  young  chap,"  said  one  of  his  employers,  "is  worth 
one  of  our  mines  to  us.  He  'd  plow  through  the  universe 
to  conquer  an  obstacle.  I  showed  him  some  of  the  diffi- 
culties of  that  Sunset  Claim,  and  he  said,  '  I  love  a  tussle 
with  elemental  nature.  When  a  man  has  overcome  primal 
forces  and  molded  them  to  his  own  uses,  it  is  an  inspiring 
feat.  He  feels  hand  in  glove  with  the  Creator  of  them,  so 
to  speak.'  It's  my  opinion  he'll  make  a  success  of  it." 

Had  Mark  met  Nathanael  suddenly,  he  would  hardly 
have  known  the  sun-browned,  sinewy  fellow.  His  very 
physique  seemed  to  have  grown  larger  since  his  emancipa- 
tion to  larger  conditions.  Certain  it  was  that  Elizabeth 
Drew,  standing  one  morning  watching  the  sunrise  from  a 
height  on  the  island  of  Catalina,  did  not  know  him  for  a 
moment,  as  —  feeling  the  disturbance  of  a  near  presence 
when  she  had  thought  herself  alone  —  she  turned  suddenly 
and  looked  in  his  face.  They  stood  silent  for  an  instant 
gazing  at  each  other,  she  with  the  sunlight  of  the  morning 
in  her  eyes  —  he  with  the  sunlight  of  his  risen  hope  in  his. 

He  smiled  and  held  out  both  his  hands  toward  her. 
She  wavered,  standing  like  a  dignified  queen  between  him 
and  the  rising  sun ;  then  she  placed  her  hands  in  his,  and 
her  face  lighted  with  an  answering  smile  of  glad  welcome 
that  betrayed  in  an  instant  of  time  an  eternity  of  love, 
unknown  to  herself. 

"Nathanael,  how  is  this  possible !"  she  said,  drawing  in 
her  breath  and  hardly  uttering  the  words  aloud,  as  if  she 
feared  he  might  be  a  vision  conjured  out  of  her  morning 
dreams,  to  vanish  at  the  sound  of  her  voice. 

For  him,  so  long  had  he  cherished  the  thought  of  her, 
his  inspiration  from  day  to  day,  so  long  his  heart  had  been 


SUNRISE  ON  A  HILLTOP  361 

calling  out  to  her  through  space  telling  her  of  his  love,  it 
seemed  to  him  that  she  must  know ;  and  now  standing  still 
silent,  unable  to  put  his  tremendous  emotion  in  words,  he 
slowly  drew  her  towards  him,  his  eyes  fixed  on  hers,  until 
their  lips  met. 

"This  is  how  it  is  possible,"  he  cried  joyfully.  "The 
glory  and  the  awakening  have  come  at  last.  See."  He 
turned  her  again  toward  the  blaze  of  sunlight  that  now  broke 
above  the  horizon  covering  the  beautiful  Bay  of  Avalon 
and  the  ocean  beyond  with  molten  gold  —  pale  morning- 
gold  and  rose. 

Elizabeth's  cheeks  burned,  and  her  lips  quivered.  She 
had  been  swept  out  of  herself  by  his  intensity  and  her  own 
joy,  yet,  so  long  had  she  been  possessed  by  the  idea  that  he 
was  Joyful's  lover,  that  she  could  not  in  a  moment  adjust 
her  mind  to  this  greeting,  nor  to  his  whole  expression  and 
bearing  and  the  revelation  it  brought  her.  So  again,  for 
a  longer  space  of  time  they  stood  silent,  gazing ;  she  at  the 
sea,  and  he,  with  respectful  tenderness,  on  her  illumined  face. 
The  light  played  over  her  shining  hair.  He  thought  it  had 
grown  more  beautiful  than  it  used  to  be.  At  last  she 
lifted  her  eyes  to  his,  and  knew  he  was  not  Joyful's  lover, 
but  her  own.  For  an  instant,  and  suddenly  she  felt  herself 
disloyal  to  the  child,  and  drew  a  step  back,  then  she  swayed 
and  put  out  a  groping  hand,  as  if  she  were  feeling  for  the 
truth. 

Nathanael  placed  his  arm  about  her  and  led  her  to  a 
jutting  rock.  "Suppose  we  sit  here  a  little  while  and 
talk,"  he  said.  "How  long  is  it  —  eleven  months  —  eleven 
years  I  would  better  say  —  since  we  bade  each  other 
good-bye?  You  remember  the  scolding  you  gave  me 


362  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

once?  It  has  borne  fruit.  I  have  come  to  you  full  of 
boasting  and  pride." 

"You  are  not  the  same  man  now,  Nathanael."  She 
knew  the  man  who  had  timidly  asked  then  if  he  might 
sometimes  write  to  her  would  not  have  dared  meet  her 
thus. 

"  No,  not  the  same  man,  thanks  to  you  and  Mr.  Thorn ; 
but  the  same  man  I  had  the  heart  to  be,  and  the  same  heart 
to  meet  you  with,  Elizabeth." 

She  covered  her  eyes  with  her  hand  a  moment,  as  if  to 
shut  out  the  glory  of  the  sea  and  sky,  that  she  might  the 
better  look  within  and  understand  something  in  her  heart. 
"I  am  bewildered,  Nathanael.  How  do  we  two  come  to  be 
away  off  here  on  this  island,  alone  on  a  mountain  top  watch- 
ing the  sun  rise  ?  Where  is  Joyful  ?  " 

He  laughed  and  took  the  hand  that  covered  her  eyes  in 
his.  "It  is  the  simplest  thing  in  the  world,  Elizabeth. 
You  came  here  to  see  this  sunrise,  and  I  followed  you." 

"Where  is  Joyful?"  she  asked  again. 

"I  don't  know  —  somewhere  in  the  land  of  the  living. 
I  think  Mr.  Thorn  knows.  I  have  a  letter  from  him  in 
my  pocket.  What  has  Joyful  to  do  with  us?"  She  was 
silent.  "Elizabeth,  I  Ve  been  raising  that  crop  you  advised 
me  to  cultivate.  You  remember  what  I  told  you  then? 
My  self-conceit  has  grown  to  enormous  size,  and  your  reap- 
ing time  has  come." 

"Sometimes  we  sow  for  others  to  reap.  Give  an  account 
of  yourself.  Did  you  just  happen  here  ?  I  can't  get  over 
the  wonder  of  it." 

"No,  nothing  ever  happens,  I  take  it;  not  to  me  at  least. 
Every  step  of  my  life  seems  to  have  been  planned  and 


SUNRISE  ON  A  HILLTOP  363 

worked  for,  from  the  time  my  blessed  mother  slaved  to 
make  me  the  man  I  am.  No.  Did  n't  you  receive  my 
letter?" 

"I  have  had  none  for  over  a  month." 

"Ah !  That  would  have  told  you  how  I  come  to  be  in 
this  part  of  the  world,  but  never  mind,  this  is  better.  I 
have  been  traveling  about  in  the  wild,  rough  places  of  the 
earth,  visiting  mines.  I  won't  go  into  details  now,  but  the 
same  business  took  me  to  Los  Angeles  to  meet  a  company 
of  mine  owners,  and  I  gladly  did  so.  I  hoped  I  might  take 
enough  time  for  myself  to  seek  you.  Yesterday  morning 
I  found  your  names  on  the  hotel  register  and  learned  that 
you  had  come  here,  and  of  course  I  took  the  next  boat." 

"Then  you  arrived  last  evening  ?" 

"Yes  —  but  you  had  gone  off  on  some  excursion  with 
others,  and  I  waited." 

"Yes?" 

"I  could  afford  to  wait  a  little  longer,  Elizabeth,  and 
now  — 

"Tell  me  all  from  the  beginning,  please  —  all  about  your 
work,  and  successes  —  I  can  see  success  in  your  eyes,  in 
your  whole  bearing  —  and  certainly  you  deserve  it." 

"Do  I?"  he  said  happily.  "We'll  see  if  I  have  it. 
When  was  the  beginning?  The  day  I  said  good-bye  to 
you?  But  that  was  an  ending." 

"Are  n't  endings  usually  beginnings?  That  closed  your 
old  life,  but  it  also  began  your  new." 

"That  day  was  neither  the  close  nor  the  beginning  of 
what  I  am  to  tell  you." 

"Never  mind,  begin  there,  because  I  know  all  up  to  that 
time." 


364  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

"Do  you?  Very  well."  Then  Nathanael  began,  not  at 
all  in  the  proud  and  vainglorious  spirit  of  which  he  had 
boasted,  but  with  the  dear  and  decorous  modesty  of  the 
lad  of  Woodbury  Center,  who  adored  while  loving.  His 
wooing  was  simple  and  tender,  yet  underneath  it  all  was 
a  gentle  insistence  not  to  be  put  aside.  Long  they  talked, 
and  the  world  spun  round  until  the  sun  was  high  above  the 
horizon.  Then  Elizabeth  rose. 

"Come,"  she  said,  "we  must  go  down.  Mother  will  be 
waiting  breakfast.  She  was  sleeping  when  I  left."  They 
went  slowly  down  the  steep  hillside  together.  Presently 
she  paused  at  a  rough  place  in  the  path,  and  looked  down 
on  him,  laughing,  as  he  turned  to  give  her  his  aid. 

"What  amuses  you?"  he  said,  as  he  led  her  carefully 
down. 

"You  do,  Nathanael.  You  are  so  changed.  It  is  mag- 
nificent." 

"How  changed?" 

"You  walk  like  a  king  —  as  if  you  were  superior  to 
everything  —  as  if  nothing  on  earth  mattered  to  you  —  as 
if  you  could  shove  aside  anything  you  did  n't  like,  or  step 
over  it." 

"So  I  would.  There  isn't  a  man  on  earth  I  would  change 
places  with  just  now."  Then  she  sighed.  "You  see?  I  told 
you  you  would  some  day  have  to  reap  your  own  sowing." 

"It  is  n't  that." 

"What  is  it,  then?" 

"That  you  could  n't  have  said  —  a  part  of  what  you  have 
just  now  said  —  long  ago.  That  you  felt  my  answer  would 
have  been  different  unless  you  had  met  with  success,  or 
had  something  to  bring  me  besides  yourself." 


SUNRISE  ON  A  HILLTOP  365 

"A  man  has  no  business  to  love  a  woman  —  no  —  I 
mean  to  ask  a  woman  to  love  him  until  he  has  enough  grit 
and  energy  to  make  something  of  himself  for  her  sake." 

"But  you  might  have  saved  yourself  —  have  saved  us 
both  —  many  sad  hours." 

"You  have  been  my  inspiration,  just  the  same." 

"What  if  I  had  married  in  the  meantime  —  a  man  of  not 
half  your  worth  — :  as  — 

"As  you  might  have  done?" 

"Yes." 

"  I  am  not  going  to  consider  such  a  possibility  now.  Why 
should  I  ?  It  is  not  to  do  over  again.  This  is  one  of  the 
cases  where  experience  cannot  be  the  teacher."  He  laughed 
buoyantly,  "I  feel  like  standing  on  the  top  of  Sugarloaf 
Rock  and  whooping  to  the  skies." 

"How  very  undignified,  Nathanael!"  she  said  gayly. 
"I  found  a  'Mrs.  Grundy'  at  the  hotel,  away  off  here  in 
little  Avalon." 

"Did  you  so?" 

"She  grumbled  because  a  mother  allowed  me  to  chaperon 
her  young  daughter  over  to  the  other  side  of  the  island  with 
yesterday's  picnic  party." 

"No  doubt  she  was  quite  right.  We  '11  be  married  right 
away.  Then  you  '11  be  able  to  chaperon  girls  much  older 
than  yourself." 

"You  haven't  asked  mother  if  you  can  have  me  yet." 

"Ah !  That  won't  take  long.  We  '11  be  married  to- 
morrow —  to-day  - 

"Is  that  the  way  you  mean  to  dominate  —  settle  things 
your  own  way,  without  even  consulting  me?" 

"Stand  still  a  moment  while  we  are  out  of  sight  from 


366  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

the  whole  world.  Tell  me  you  will  go  home  with  me  as 
my  wife,  Elizabeth.  I  mean  now,  Elizabeth,  back  to 
Denver."  She  caught  her  breath.  "  Ah,  say  it,"  he  begged. 
"I  'm  a  Western  man  now.  The  ways  of  the  West  suit  me. 
We  always  do  the  straight,  common-sense  thing  there,  and 
snap  our  fingers  at  some  of  the  world's  ways.  Why,  is  n't 
this  sense  ?  Have  n't  we  waited  long  enough  ?  " 

"We'll  go  down  the  hill,  dear,  and  talk  it  over  with 
mother." 

He  kissed  her,  and  they  took  their  way  down  in  silence. 
When  they  reached  the  little  hotel,  she  left  him.  "I  will 
tell  mother  and  prepare  her  a  little,  and  we  '11  breakfast 
together,"  she  said.  "We  '11  join  you  soon." 

Then,  while  Nathanael  paced  restlessly  on  the  hotel 
verandah  she  arranged  Mrs.  Drew's  hair  as  usual,  but  at 
first  was  silent,  while  she  brushed  the  long,  silvery  strands 
and  fastened  the  bit  of  lace  her  mother  always  wore,  with 
dainty  touch.  Presently  she  held  out  her  hand.  "Look, 
mother,"  she  cried  joyously,  showing  the  ring  that  sparkled 
on  her  finger. 

"My  child!    Where  did  thee  get  this?" 

"On  the  top  of  the  mountain,  mother."  She  lifted  the 
jewel  to  her  lips,  and  turned  a  rose  red.  But  her  mother 
regarded  her  with  dismay. 

"Oh,  daughter  —  it  was  n't  —  surely  it  could  n't  be  — ' 

"No  it  wasn't,  and  it  couldn't  be  —  any  one  but  just  this 
one  who  put  it  here.  Guess,  mother,  who  is  there  in  all  the 
world  thee  would  be  willing  I  should  accept  this  from?" 
But  the  mother  was  silent.  Then  Elizabeth  knelt  beside 
her  chair.  "Put  thy  hand  on  my  head,  mother,  love  me, 
tell  me  thee  is  glad,  mother.  I  can't  wait  for  thee  to  guess, 


SUNRISE  ON  A  HILLTOP  367 

thee  is  so  slow.  It  was  Nathanael.  He  came  to  me  on  the 
mountain  top,  just  as  the  sun  rose,  and  all  these  years, 
since  he  was  a  boy,  mother,  he  has  been  loving  me  and 
waiting  to  give  me  this.  He  is  waiting  now  to  see  thee, 
mother.  We  will  breakfast  together.  Thee  must  be 
famished." 

Then  her  mother  kissed  her.  "I  am  glad  for  thy  happi- 
ness, Elizabeth.  So  thy  father  loved  me.  Bring  me  my 
crutch;  we  will  go  down  to  him." 

So  they  came  to  Nathanael  where  he  paced  up  and  down, 
and  he  was  satisfied  with  the  mother's  welcome. 

"Ah,  Nathanael,"  she  said,  as  he  helped  her  to  the  table, 
"I  have  often  longed  for  a  son  like  thee." 

So  it  was  that  after  much  discussion  Nathanael  had  his 
way.  He  did  not  have  to  go  back  to  Denver  alone.  They 
returned  to  Los  Angeles  and  there  were  quietly  married. 
Elizabeth  was  not  asked  to  leave  her  mother,  she  could  not 
have  done  that,  nor  did  Mrs.  Drew  plead  to  return  that  sum- 
mer to  their  New  England  home.  She  was  quite  content. 

One  day  before  they  left,  as  Nathanael  was  standing  in 
his  hotel  reading-room  he  saw  a  man  regarding  him  intently 
through  the  window.  The  man  was  unkempt  and  haggard, 
and  he  gazed  at  Nathanael  with  hungry  eyes,  but  turned 
when  he  saw  himself  noticed,  and  walked  away.  His 
face  was  thin  and  pallid,  his  manner  that  of  a  fugitive. 
Although  Nathanael  caught  but  this  momentary  glimpse, 
and  although  he  had  no  time  to  spare,  as  they  were  leaving 
within  the  hour,  he  seized  his  hat  and  walked  rapidly  after 
the  retreating  figure.  Something  in  the  man's  eyes  brought 
his  brother  before  him,  his  brother  from  whom  he  had  heard 
nothing  for  over  a  year. 


368  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

Nathanael  saw  him  glance  about  him  as  he  turned  a  corner 
half  a  block  ahead,  and  hastening  his  steps  arrived  at  the 
corner  in  time  to  see  the  man  disappear  through  the  open 
door  of  a  drinking  hall.  Then  he  was  half  minded  to 
turn  back.  His  brother  Jack  —  his  handsome,  self-reliant 
brother,  could  never  be  transformed  into  a  man  with  such 
a  slinking,  hangdog  gait.  If  he  followed  him  into  the  hole, 
what  excuse  had  he  to  offer,  if  the  man  were  a  stranger  — 
as  he  must  be.  Yet  those  eyes !  He  changed  his  hurried 
pace  to  a  saunter  and,  passing  the  hall,  gazed  in  at  the  door 
and  saw  the  fellow  standing  at  the  counter  waiting  for  his 
drink.  No  —  that  never  could  be  Jack.  Just  then  the 
man  turned,  and  their  eyes  met.  In  an  instant  Nathanael 
was  at  his  side. 

"Jack  !"  he  said,  in  a  low  voice,  and  the  man's  glance  fell, 
but  his  hand  instinctively  sought  Nathanael's.  At  that 
moment  the  liquor  was  set  before  him,  but  Nathanael  saw 
he  had  already  been  drinking.  "Leave  it,  Jack,  and  come 
with  me,"  he  said,  tossing  the  money  for  it  beside  the  glass, 
and  they  passed  out.  As  Jack  set  foot  in  the  street,  he 
glanced  quickly  up  and  down  as  if  afraid  of  being  watched. 

"Let  us  find  some  quiet  place  where  we  can  have  a  chat, 
old  boy,"  said  Nathanael.  "We  '11  go  in  this  restaurant  and 
have  a  bite  to  eat  while  we  talk." 

They  entered  a  small  eating  room  and  chose  a  table  in 
a  corner  by  themselves.  Nathanael  sent  for  a  messenger 
boy,  and  dispatched  him  with  a  line  to  Elizabeth,  telling 
her  they  would  be  detained  a  day  longer  in  Los  Angeles. 
Then  he  turned  again  to  his  brother.  "Now,  Jack,  you  've 
had  trouble;  tell  me  about  it.  Why  haven't  you  let  me 
know?" 


SUNRISE  ON  A  HILLTOP  369 

Jack  sat  with  his  head  drooped  forward  and  his  eyes 
staring  at  the  tablecloth.  He  cleared  his  throat  and  glanced 
uneasily  toward  the  door.  "  Have  they  been  tracking  me  ?  " 
he  asked  hoarsely. 

"What  do  you  mean  —  tracking  you?" 

"You  ought  to  know  —  they  don't  keep  things  so  quiet  in 
Woodbury  Center."  He  took  a  sip  of  water,  and  again 
cleared  his  throat.  "Did  n't  you  know  I  killed  a  man  before 
I  left?  Whom  did  they  suspect,  if  not  me?"  His  eyes 
now  sought  his  brother's  face  pathetically,  and  again  looked 
past  him  to  the  street. 

"Ah,"  said  Nathanael,  gently.  "I  see  it  all.  But  lift 
up  your  head,  boy,  and  be  a  man  once  more,  for  he  's  alive 
and  well,  or  was  a  few  weeks  ago.  Here 's  a  letter  from 
him." 

Jack  started  up  and  stretched  out  both  hands  to  his 
brother,  then  he  dropped  back  in  his  chair  and  bowed  his 
head  in  his  arms  upon  the  table,  and  his  shoulders  shook. 
The  long  year  of  agony  and  remorse  had  broken  his  spirit. 
Nathanael  waited  a  few  moments,  then  he  touched  his 
brother's  hair  lightly,  as  a  woman  would  have  done.  "It 's 
as  I  tell  you,  Jack.  You  have  suffered,  poor  fellow,  but  you 
can  hold  your  head  up  like  a  man  again.  That 's  right  — 
look  the  world  squarely  in  the  face,  and  begin  all  over." 

The  ice  crust  of  reserve  that  had  always  been  between  the 
two  brothers  melted  away,  and  they  talked  together  freely 
and  intimately. 

"I  haven't  looked  a  man  in  the  face  from  that  day  to 
this  without  fearing  he  might  be  searching  for  me  to  pay 
for  my  crime.  Oh,  God !  It  would  be  better  to  die  than 
to  be  haunted  by  such  a  memory.  That  man  as  he  lay 


370  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

there  after  I  struck  him!  I  have  seen  him  all  the  time. 
I  meant  to  kill  him,  I  had  murder  in  my  heart,  but  after 
the  blow  was  struck,  I  would  have  lain  there  in  his  place  to 
bring  him  to  life  again.  I  covered  his  face  with  his  coat,  so 
the  sun  should  n't  shine  on  it."  He  hid  his  face  again  with 
his  hands,  and  they  sat  for  a  moment  in  silence. 

At  last  Nathanael  spoke  quietly.  "  Put  it  all  behind  you. 
You  have  suffered,  I  know,  but  it  was  right  you  should. 
You  have  no  money?"  Jack  spread  out  his  hands  with 
a  gesture  of  despair.  "But  that 's  not  so  bad.  I  can  help 
you  out." 

"You  have  done  it  before  and  got  nothing  in  return." 

"I  have  my  brother  back,  and  once  again  we'll  trust. 
Have  you  anything  to  do  ? " 

"No,  naturally.  I  Ve  been  wandering  about,  picking  up 
odd  jobs  in  out-of-the-way  places  —  hiding,  Nat,  hiding." 

"Here  comes  our  lunch.    Look  me  in  the  face  as  you  used 
to  do.    The  fear  is  gone,  and  you  '11  go  back  with  me  — 
or  rather,  before  me,  for  I  must  stop  on  the  way.     I  can  send 
you  on,  and  the  company  will  give  you  work." 

Jack's  face  flushed.  "  If  I  go  on  there,  I  shall  in  reality  be 
indebted  to  him  —  to  the  man  I  struck  ?  " 

"Yes,"  said  Nathanael,  impellingly,  "but  you  must  accept 
that.  You  can't  afford  to  let  pride  stand  in  your  way 
now." 

"I  have  suffered,  and  have  repented,  but  he  —  he  did 
me  a  wrong,  and  I  have  n't  forgotten." 

"I  think  you  mistake  there." 

"You  don't  understand." 

"I  think  I  do." 

"He  has  told  you?" 


SUNRISE  ON  A  HILLTOP  371 

"He  made  no  complaint  of  you  to  any  living  being.  How 
could  I  have  been  ignorant  of  it  otherwise?" 

Jack  looked  down  and  sullenly  cut  at  his  steak.  "He 
knows  he  wronged  me,"  he  said.  "You  are  married  to  the 
girl  you  have  loved  all  your  life.  I  saw  you  together  yester- 
day. You  looked  happy,  and  so  did  she.  I  went  by  the 
hotel  again  to-day,  hoping  to  get  another  glimpse  of  you. 
See  what  he  did  for  me.  I  am  an  outcast.  I  have  com- 
mitted a  crime,  and  my  life  is  broken." 

"You  are  young  and  have  your  life  still  before  you.  As  to 
whether  you  were  wronged  or  not,  leave  it  for  time  to  decide. 
You  will  be  on  your  feet  again  soon  with  us  — " 

"And  then  I  '11  meet  him  as  a  man  should,  and  settle  the 
matter.  Has  he  married  her?"  Jack  spoke  huskily,  and 
leaned  forward,  looking  eagerly  in  his  brother's  face. 

"No." 

"Then  I  '11  go  with  you." 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

JOYFUL'S  NEW  HOME 

Behold,  in  the  rose  of  the  dawn,  Love, 
In  the  round,  red  disk  of  the  sun,  Love, 
I  see  thee  before  me,  my  one  Love, 
I  see  thee  when  daylight  is  gone,  dear, 
In  the  bending  bow  of  the  moon,  clear 
That  riseth  faint  and  soon,  dear  — 
In  the  lingering  star  at  its  tip,  near 
Even  as  lip  to  lip,  dear, 
From  dawning  to  dusk  my  heart  holds  thee, 
From  dusk  to  the  dawning  enfolds  thee, 

Turn  hither  thy  feet  for  thou  knowest  it,  sweet. 

As  the  ist  of  June  drew  near,  Mark  Thorn  grew  more 
eager  and  restless.  He  could  not  let  Joyful  sail  away  from 
him,  and  went  again  to  Boston  and  followed  the  clew  Tom 
Bings  had  given  him,  only  to  learn  that  the  family  had 
already  gone  to  New  York,  and  were  to  sail  on  a  Cunard 
steamship.  In  haste  he  returned  and  made  preparations 
for  departure.  The  sittings  for  Hester  Prynne  were  finished, 
and  he  had  begun  one  or  two  other  subjects,  using  Marie 
Vaile  still  as  his  model.  Now  he  told  her  he  must  stop  work 
for  a  time  and  take  a  vacation. 

Two  or  three  days  were  yet  to  elapse  before  the  sailing 
of  the  steamer  on  which  he  found  the  Burt  family  registered, 
and  these  he  passed  in  jubilant  anticipation,  working  in  his 
studio  until  the  last  hour. 

The  day  before  he  left  he  had  been  selecting  some  of  his 

372 


JOYFUL'S  NEW  HOME  373 

studies  and  placing  them  in  such  order  that  at  any  time  he 
could  send  for  them,  and  among  others  he  took  out  the  un- 
finished Undine.  This  he  sat  long  before,  while  he  lived 
over  again  the  moments  he  had  passed  with  Joyful,  and  as 
he  sat  thus  absorbed  in  that  summer  dream,  Marie  Vaile 
entered  and  stood  beside  him,  unheeded.  When  she  spoke 
to  him,  he  started,  almost  as  if  he  were  guilty  of  some  secret 
he  wished  to  keep  hidden,  and  turned  the  picture  to  the  wall. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Thorn,  don't  put  it  away.     May  I  not  see  it  ?  " 

"Indeed,  yes,  if  you  wish,"  he  said.  "It  is  an  unfinished 
thing,  as  you  see."  He  placed  it  before  her  and  gave  her 
his  seat,  while  he  stood  beside  her.  He  wondered  if  she 
would  recognize  the  likeness  to  the  child  she  had  once  so 
generously  befriended,  but  he  was  little  prepared  for  the 
depth  of  her  passion.  She  was  silent.  Then  he  placed 
before  her  the  crayon  sketch  he  had  begun  in  the  Somers' 
boarding  house,  and  which  he  had  since  finished  with  exceed- 
ing care.  This  he  had  always  kept  for  himself  alone,  and 
Marie's  eyes  were  the  first  he  had  ever  allowed  the  privilege 
of  resting  on  it. 

"This  is  a  better  likeness,  and  more  finished,"  he  said. 
Still  she  was  silent,  as  though  stunned.  Suddenly  she  rose 
and  turned  on  him  like  a  tigress.  He  was  amazed  at  her 
vehemence. 

"You  —  you  !"  she  cried,  seizing  him  by  the  arms.  "It 
was  you  who  took  her  away.  Tell  me,  where  have  you 
hidden  her,  where  are  you  keeping  her  ?  I  want  her.  I  will 
have  her.  I  say  I  will  know  —  You  shall  not  have  her  - 
no  man  shall  see  her  —  I  want  her.  Tell  me."  As  suddenly 
she  released  him,  pushing  him  violently  from  her.  Her 
beautiful  lips  curled  contemptuously,  and  her  eyes  flashed 


374  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

defiance  in  his.  "I  had  almost  persuaded  myself  there 
was  one  good  man  on  earth,  who  could  be  trusted,  and  I 
came  back  to  ask  your  help  —  to  tell  you  all  about  it  — 
where  she  came  to  me  —  all.  I  thought  that  cat  had  her 
concealed,  but  it  was  you  —  you  who  took  her  away  and 
hid  her."  She  sank  again  into  the  chair  and  covered  her 
face,  weeping  passionately. 

Mark  looked  down  at  her,  filled  with  tenderness  and  sym- 
pathy. He  was  so  overjoyed  at  the  thought  of  soon  having 
Joyful  near  him  that  he  could  not  resent  her  words,  and  he 
sat  near  her  and  talked  to  her  quietly  until  her  passion  had 
somewhat  subsided.  Then  he  told  her  of  his  first  meeting 
with  Joyful,  and  of  his  love  for  the  child,  and  his  struggle 
with  himself.  He  went  on  and  told  her  how  he  had  found 
her  the  second  time,  and  what  he  had  done,  and  how  he 
had  lost  her,  and  had  sought  for  her  week  after  week,  not 
wishing  to  make  his  search  known  so  as  to  trouble  her.  He 
told  of  his  sorrow  and  chagrin  when  the  rude  awakening 
came  to  Joyful  from  which  he  would  have  saved  her  forever, 
and  at  last  he  told  her  how  he  hoped  he  had  found  her  again, 
and  had  planned  to  sail  away  in  the  same  boat  with  her. 

As  Mark  told  his  tale,  gradually  Marie's  sobs  ceased,  and 
at  last  she  lifted  her  head  and  looked  at  him,  listening  eagerly. 
Her  lips  were  feverish  and  her  cheeks  flushed,  and  her  fingers 
trembled  as  she  pushed  back  the  heavy  hair  from  her  brow. 
Her  hands  seemed  to  have  grown  thinner  and  more  trans- 
parent in  the  four  months  since  she  had  been  his  model,  and 
he  was  filled  with  compassion  as  he  watched  her. 

For  a  time  after  he  had  finished  speaking  she  sat  with  her 
hands  tightly  closed  in  her  lap,  silent,  and  her  face  assumed 
the  hard  expression  he  had  sometimes  seen  her  wear.  Once 


JOYFUL'S  NEW  HOME  375 

she  moistened  her  lips  and  essayed  to  speak,  but  uttered 
no  sound.  He  waited  quietly,  not  interrupting  her  mood, 
and  at  last  she  spoke  out  of  the  pain  in  her  heart,  so  low  he 
could  scarcely  understand  her  words. 

"You  are  a  good  man,"  she  said  coldly,  as  if  her  sense  of 
justice  forced  the  admission  from  her.  "  Perhaps  you  will 
forgive  me  for  misjudging  you.  You  will  take  her  away 
from  me  forever.  If  you  ever  return  with  her,  I  shall  not 
see  her,  for  I  shall  be  dead.  I  would  have  saved  her  from 
the  knowledge  of  —  also,  if  only  I  could  have  found  her, 
but  now  it  would  be  too  late.  If  ever  she  sees  me  again,  she 
will  hate  me  for  what  I  have  been.  Those  who  are  so 
terribly  good  always  do." 

"You  are  mistaken,  Miss  Vaile.  She  understands  well 
that  you  were  generously  protecting  her.  If  you  could 
have  seen  her  as  I  saw  her,  weeping  and  pleading  to  stay  with 
you  —  to  take  you  with  her  —  you  would  understand, 
but  —  but  —  that,  as  you  know,  was  impossible." 

"Yes,  I  know,"  she  replied,  scarcely  above  a  whisper,  her 
lips  only  forming  the  words,  and  Mark  continued. 

"I  promised  her  I  would  find  you,  but  when  I  returned 
you  had  gone,  and  she  had  lost  herself  from  me,  and  I  could 
not  have  told  her  about  you  had  I  had  anything  to  tell. 
No  doubt  she  distrusts  me  still,  but  when  I  have  won  her  I 
will  bring  her  back,  and  you  will  find  her  loving  and  full  of 
gratitude  to  you.  Believe  me,  Miss  Vaile." 

But  he  could  not  dispel  her  sadness.  "No,  I  shall  be  dead. 
I  shall  have  nothing  to  live  for,  to  make  me  care  to  live. 
I  thought  if  I  could  have  her,  I  —  I  would  have  sufficient 
incentive  to  —  to  - 

"I  understand,  Marie;  I  understand." 


376  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

"I  thought  I  could  atone  through  her  —  I  could  keep  her 
with  me,  always  safe  and  happy." 

"But  what  could  you  do  ?" 

The  marble  of  her  brow  became  crimson,  and  then  paled. 
"You  have  a  right  to  ask.  I  have  a  little  money,  Mr. 
Thorn,  left  me  by  my  father.  They  all  thought  me  dead, 
only  my  father.  He  would  not  believe  it,  and  charged  them 
never  to  give  up  the  search  until  I  was  found,  and  a  few 
months  ago  they  found  me.  It  is  n't  much,  but  it  would 
almost  keep  us,  and  for  the  rest  —  but  I  give  up.  It  is 
of  no  use  to  struggle  now."  She  rose  and  walked  toward 
the  door.  Mark  followed  her,  expostulating  —  trying  to 
draw  her  out  of  her  deep  despondency. 

"When  I  return  I  will  need  you  again,  Miss  Vaile.  Let 
me  keep  my  promise  to  Joyful.  I  told  her  I  would  bring 
her  word  of  you.  Here,  this  is  my  address  hi  Paris ;  write 
me  there,  and  when  I  have  married  Joyful  - 

"  You  speak  very  confidently,  Mr.  Thorn."  Marie  turned 
on  him  with  the  ghost  of  a  smile  about  her  lips.  "Sinless 
women  are  hard.  It  is  we  who  have  suffered  who  under- 
stand —  who  can  be  tender.  You  may  not  be  able  to  win 
her,  for  distrust  is  a  very  devil  in  a  woman's  heart." 

"Ah,  but  I  will  win  her,"  he  said  quietly.  "Sooner  or 
later,  I  will." 

"You  cannot  know  what  your  taking  her  away  from  me 
means  to  me  —  and  yet  I  hope  you  may.  I  hope  she  will 
understand  —  sometimes  happiness  is  just  within  our  reach, 
and  we  never  know  it  —  and  live  on  without  it.  I  suppose 
—  I  feel  —  that  you  are  a  good  man.  —  They  are  rare. 
Good-bye."  She  passed  out,  but  still  he  followed  her,  and 
thrust  the  card  with  his  address  in  her  hand. 


JOYFUL'S  NEW  HOME  377 

"Write  to  me.  Promise  me  you  will  write  to  me  there, 
for  Joyful's  sake." 

"If  it  is  possible  —  if  —  I  will,"  she  said. 

The  next  day  Mark  sailed.  Glad  at  heart,  jubilant,  he 
paced  the  deck,  waiting  for  a  sight  of  Joyful's  face.  She 
must  surely  be  there,  somewhere  among  the  crowd  throng- 
ing that  great  palace  of  the  ocean,  for  there  were  the  names 
on  the  steamer's  passenger  list  in  his  hand  —  Mr.  George 
Burt,  wife,  three  children,  and  governess.  He  waited 
patiently  all  the  first  afternoon,  but  saw  no  one  whom  he 
thought  could  be  of  the  family.  Indeed,  but  few  children 
were  to  be  seen,  and  they  were  not  of  the  ages  of  those  he 
had  seen  with  Joyful  on  that  spring  day.  The  next  morn- 
ing Mark  saw  a  golden-haired  little  boy  playing  about  the 
ladies'  saloon,  and  ventured  to  make  friends  with  him ;  but 
when  he  asked  his  name,  the  prompt  reply  was  "Willie 
Jones,  but  you  must  call  me  Will. "  Alas  !  He  was  the  only 
small  boy  on  the  ship.  Then  Mark  interrogated  the 
captain,  and  learned,  to  his  chagrin  that,  owing  to  the  sud- 
den illness  of  their  little  son,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Burt  had  given 
up  their  passage  only  an  hour  before  the  boat  left  the  harbor, 
and  returned  to  Boston. 

Surely  the  fates  were  against  him.  The  pilot  boat  had 
gone  back,  and  there  was  no  chance  of  his  return  until  the 
steamer  arrived  in  port ;  moreover,  he  had  business  which 
would  take  him  to  Paris,  possibly  to  Italy  —  a  commission 
to  select  certain  paintings  for  a  public  gallery  in  a  Western 
town.  Rashly  he  had  promised  to  do  this,  and  now  felt 
under  obligations  to  the  committee  who  had  chosen  him 
their  agent.  Torn  between  anxiety  and  duty,  his  restless- 
ness knew  no  bounds.  He  became  moody,  and  appeared 


378  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

to  his  fellow  passengers  morose,  to  such  an  extent  that  he 
was  avoided  as  one  who  might  prove  to  be  anything  but  a 
pleasant  companion. 

At  last  he  decided  to  write  to  Marie  Vaile,  and  beg  her 
to  find  Joyful  for  him,  telling  her  he  would  defray  the  ex- 
penses, and  that  none  must  be  spared.  He  gave  her  the 
address  of  the  house  near  Boston,  where  he  had  reason  to 
believe  she  might  be.  He  told  her  to  go  to  Tom  Bings,  to 
make  friends  with  his  wife  —  to  do  anything  that  would 
lead  her  to  Joyful.  This  letter  he  dispatched  in  port,  and 
then  set  himself  with  all  speed  to  fill  his  commission,  which 
furnished  him  with  occupation  that  might  have  been  pleas- 
antly distracting,  had  it  not  been  for  the  frequent  delays 
he  was  subjected  to  by  the  dealers. 

During  the  months  that  had  elapsed  since  Joyful  Heath- 
erby  wrote  the  tear-blurred  letter  which  had  become 
ragged  and  frayed  in  Mark's  breast  pocket,  she  had  been 
filling  a  difficult  position  bravely.  She  had  been  learning 
the  ways  of  the  world,  that  is  to  say,  and  had  bowed  her 
young  head  to  many  a  sore  trial. 

Mrs.  George  Starr  Burt  was  a  handsome  woman,  and  wise 
in  her  own  conceit.  She  felt  that  there  was  no  height  to 
which  she  was  not  entitled  to  climb  in  the  social  world, 
which  world,  in  conservative  Boston,  was  slow  in  taking 
her  to  its  bosom,  mainly  for  the  reason  that  the  members 
of  the  highest  circle,  or  of  any  other,  for  the  matter  of  that, 
knew  nothing  of  her  antecedents.  She  had  been  sent  to  the 
city  from  a  small  Western  town  to  be  cultured  and  finished, 
and  while  there  had  met  and  married  a  man  several  years 
her  senior,  whom  her  father  had  generously  established  in 
a  business  which,  without  such  aid,  stood  on  the  edge  of 


JOYFUL'S  NEW  HOME  379 

failure,  and  had  since  that  time  been  rapidly  amassing  a 
fortune. 

Now  Mrs.  Burt  felt  that,  with  a  fine  physique  and  all  the 
culture  to  be  had  for  money,  and  wealth  to  command,  she 
ought  to  be  gladly  welcomed  and  placed  in  any  position  to 
which  she  might  aspire ;  hence  she  shook  out  her  beautiful 
plumage  and  fluttered  about  to  sun  herself  in  the  light  of  the 
public  gaze,  but  found  it  decidedly  cold.  She  made  occa- 
sional flights  in  the  Delphic  groves  where  the  tree  of  knowl- 
edge is  supposed  to  flourish  best  —  she  preened  her  feathers 
at  the  feet  of  celebrities  —  she  joined  classes  for  the  study 
of  Dante  in  the  Italian,  or  for  peering  microscopically  into 
the  mysteries  of  Browning  and  Walt  Whitman.  Not  that 
she  cared  in  the  least  what  their  lines  might  mean,  but  that 
they  were  to  her  lines  of  introduction  to  the  joys  of  social 
supremacy. 

Mrs.  Burt  was  a  determined  woman.  What  she  did  not 
have  she  seemed  to  have,  and  if  rebuffs  were  given  her, 
she  did  not  know  it,  or  the  rest  of  the  world  did  not  know 
she  knew  it.  For  several  years  she  had  been  slowly  working 
her  way  toward  the  position  she  desired  to  occupy,  but  the 
way  was  long,  and  at  last  she  resolved  to  make  a  few  bold 
strokes  to  win.  Why  should  she  wait  until  she  was  old  and 
gray?  Younger  women  than  she  were  admired  and  de- 
ferred to  —  their  positions  unquestioned  and  secure,  why 
should  not  hers  be  ?  Was  it  her  quiet,  absorbed  husband 
who  stood  in  the  path?  Must  she  always  go  about  alone 
and  work  her  way  unaided,  while  he  was  never  to  be  seen 
except  in  his  office  or  at  his  own  table?  Other  women's 
husbands  went  out  with  them,  semi-occasionally,  at  least. 
Other  men  could  hold  their  own  in  conversation  —  some  of 


380  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

them  were  even  brilliant,  and  their  wives  were  sought  after 
for  their  sakes  —  they  were  connoisseurs  of  wines  —  they 
had  experiences  to  relate  and  could  please  women  —  they 
could  cover  deficiencies  and  say  the  right  thing  at  the  right 
instant. 

George  Burt  could  do  none  of  these  things.  Did  he  hap- 
pen to  be  caught  at  an  unwary  moment  and  allow  his  wife 
to  accept  for  him  an  invitation  to  dine,  he  was  silent  for  the 
most  part  and  monosyllabic  between  courses,  and  the  lady 
at  his  side  must  needs  support  the  conversation  for  two. 
He  always  felt  his  wife's  eyes  on  him,  and  the  consciousness 
of  her  dissatisfaction  permeated  his  behavior.  As  the  genie 
who  kept  her  purse  filled  with  gold,  he  was  useful  to  her, 
but  beyond  this  he  was  a  drag  on  her  progress,  to  be  apolo- 
gized for  and  held  in  the  background  to  serve  in  silence. 

Before  Mrs.  Burt  had  acquired  an  establishment,  she  had 
busied  herself  in  making  a  wide  circle  of  acquaintances 
whom  she'called  friends.  She  was  willing  to  ride  any  hobby 
to  the  death  which  would  carry  her  up  the  hill  she  was  eager 
to  climb,  hence  she  mounted  many  and  rode  them  bravely 
until  they  collapsed  under  her  weight,  leaving  her  on  the 
road,  far  short  of  the  goal.  She  began  in  a  modest  way 
with  her  church,  and  rode  the  missionary  hobby  in  the  ex- 
cellent company  of  mature  women  whose  social  position 
had  been  an  established  fact  from  their  cradles;  but  for 
some  reason  invitations  to  missionary  teas  did  not  lead 
gradually  to  invitations  to  bridge  whist  and  full-dress  affairs. 
She  progressed  through  all  the  gradations  of  women's 
activities,  from  severest  forms  of  self-culture  to  public 
charities,  until  at  last  her  patient  husband  could  give  her 
an  elegant  mansion  in  an  elegant  quarter,  with  an  elegant 


JOYFUL'S  NEW  HOME  381 

retinue  of  servants  in  elegant  livery,  when  she  began  to  ride 
in  elegant  equipages  with  elegant  companions  who  were 
willing  to  be  carried  about. 

It  was  at  this  time  that  Mrs.  George  Starr  Burt  decided 
she  must  have  a  French  governess  for  the  three  children 
who  had  come  to  her  very  quietly  and  had,  thus  far,  not  been 
greatly  in  her  way,  being  so  small  as  to  be  entirely  under 
the  care  of  a  nurse.  Now  Mrs.  Burt,  although  she  had 
much  means  at  her  disposal,  was  inclined  to  be  extremely 
thrifty  withal,  and  economical  in  small  things.  Albeit 
a  large  and  imposing  woman,  who  appeared  to  do  things 
in  a  large  way,  her  servants  knew  they  could  not  expect 
large  wages,  and  they  also  knew  that  their  full  quota  of 
labor  would  be  exacted  from  them  to  the  smallest  detail. 
While  she  was  lavish  in  her  expenditure  for  the  garniture 
of  the  bodies  of  her  three  babes,  she  was  cautious  when  it 
came  to  laying  out  money  on  their  mental  furnishing; 
hence,  in  her  search  for  a  French  governess,  she  was  anxious 
to  find  one  who  could  at  the  same  time  save  the  expense  of 
an  extra  maid,  and  whose  expectations  in  the  way  of  salary 
would  be,  to  say  the  least,  modest.  Thus  when  the  janitor's 
wife  learned  that  the  elegant  Mrs.  George  Starr  Burt  wished 
for  a  French  governess,  and  brought  Joyful  into  her  presence, 
that  astute  woman  quickly  perceived  her  opportunity  to 
obtain  much  for  little. 

Joyful's  inexperience,  and  the  fact  that  she  was  not  born 
in  France  (a  fact  greatly  to  her  disadvantage)  made  it  quite 
a  charity,  indeed,  to  give  her  the  position  at  all,  no  matter 
how  small  the  stipend.  That  her  name  was  Antoinette, 
however,  was  fortunate.  Mademoiselle  Antoinette  sounded 
well,  and,  suitably  gowned,  she  would  give  quite  the  air  Mrs. 


382  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

Burt  desired  as  she  drove  about  with  the  children,  or  brought 
them  to  the  parlor  to  be  noticed  and  petted  by  injudicious 
callers.  Thus  was  Joyful  installed  a  member  of  the  Burt 
household.  She  became  Mam'selle  Antoinette,  and  was 
enjoined  to  speak  nothing  but  French  to  the  children.  Her 
salary  was  given  her  at  first  in  the  form  of  gowns  and  hats, 
such  as  Mrs.  Burt  thought  to  be  suitable  for  a  French 
governess,  and  to  all  appearances  her  only  duties  consisted 
in  driving  with  the  little  ones,  accompanying  them  as  they 
strolled  hi  the  park,  taking  them  to  dancing  school  and 
children's  parties,  and  submitting  with  patience  to  their 
selfish  whims  and  caprices ;  but  with  all  this,  duties  were 
imposed  on  her  which  should  rightly  have  been  performed 
by  an  underservant,  and  she  was  frequently  pressed  into 
service  as  lady's  maid  for  Mrs.  Burt,  who  considered  that, 
since  Joyful's  duties  were  so  light,  she  might  just  as  well 
learn  to  wait  on  her,  and  keep  her  dresses  in  order. 

Many  a  night  after  the  children  were  asleep  and  her 
legitimate  tasks  were  done,  and  she  should  have  had  the 
hours  to  herself,  she  might  be  found  in  the  laundry  sorting 
and  folding  garments,  pressing  filmy  ruffles  and  picking  out 
the  laces  that  adorned  elaborate  frocks,  or  removing  grass 
stains  from  small  trousers,  or  perhaps  she  would  be  ironing 
Mrs.  Burt's  fine  handkerchiefs,  or  mending  her  husband's 
socks  and  underwear.  In  "  Mam'selle  V  workbasket 
might  be  found  Mrs.  Burt's  silken  hose,  placed  there  as 
a  compliment  to  "Mam'selle's"  handiwork;  or  indeed, 
table  napery  to  be  darned.  Thus  were  her  grandmother's 
lessons  in  old-fashioned  needlework  brought  into  daily  use, 
and  when  seamstresses  were  in  the  house  making  the  chil- 
dren's clothing,  many  an  hour  which  should  have  been  her 


JOYFUL'S  NEW  HOME  383 

own  was  spent  by  Joyful  in  making  buttonholes  or  hem- 
stitching ruffles. 

There  were  regular  hours  to  be  spent  in  the  schoolroom, 
of  course,  but  they  were  constantly  interrupted  or  shortened 
that  Joyful  might  have  time  for  these  tasks.  She  never  had 
a  half  hour  for  quiet  reading,  and  the  dreams  of  knights  and 
ladies  became  visions  of  her  childhood,  dim  and  far  away. 

Sometimes  in  the  dead  of  night  she  awoke  and  longed 
for  the  sea,  and  fancied  she  heard  its  monotonous  wave 
beats  on  the  shore  when  a  midnight  car  rumbled  in  the 
distance.  Often  her  pillow  was  wet  with  her  tears  when  the 
long  wakeful  hours  pressed  on  her  the  memory  of  all  she  had 
lost,  and  she  hungered  for  a  little  love,  for  the  sight  of  the 
dear  old  grandfather's  wrinkled  face,  or  the  sound  of  her 
grandmother's  voice.  Often  she  dreamed  she  was  seated 
at  Elizabeth  Drew's  knee  practicing  her  guitar,  and  awoke 
with  a  sense  of  loneliness  like  a  cold  hand  over  her  heart. 
Sometimes,  in  the  darkness,  she  saw  Mark  Thorn  as  he  had 
first  appeared  to  her,  standing  in  the  wagon  way  through 
the  woods,  or  as  he  lay  with  his  bandages  about  him  in  her 
grandmother's  best  chamber  —  his  eyes,  burning  under  his 
heavy  brows,  fixed  on  her,  his  dark  hair  matted  above  his 
white  forehead,  and  his  thin,  pale,  unshaven  face  looking 
ghostly  after  his  hurt.  She  saw  him  as  he  was  in  each  hour 
she  had  spent  in  his  presence  —  in  the  boat,  busied  with  his 
sketchbook  and  pencil  —  in  Elizabeth's  home,  painting 
her  "Ladye  Faire"  —  in  the  wood  under  the  branching 
beech  tree  with  patches  of  sunlight  dancing  over  him.  The 
very  tones  of  his  voice  seemed  still  to  vibrate  in  her  ears, 
even  to  quiver  in  her  heart  —  his  gentleness  when  he  asked 
her  concerning  her  trouble  —  every  word  he  had  said,  and 


384  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

she  would  turn  her  face  to  the  wall  and  sob  silently  and  in 
shame,  that  she  could  not  forget.  Must  she  always  remem- 
ber and  feel  him  near  her?  Why  must  his  words  repeat 
themselves  over  and  over  ?  "Again  you  are  right,  Miss  Joy- 
ful," and  why  should  her  heart  always  ache  with  the  memory 
of  them  ?  Must  she  always  long  thus  to  see  him,  and  hear 
him  speak  to  her  again  ?  Then  would  come  the  thought 
of  that  night  when  he  had  taken  her  away  from  that  strange 
and  horrible  place,  and  she  would  writhe  in  an  agony  of 
shame  and  sorrow.  Ah,  it  was  a  sin  to  so  hold  him  always 
in  her  heart.  What  had  Mrs.  Bings  told  her  ?  Who  was 
he  ?  A  wandering  artist,  a  man  who  was  a  law  unto  himself 
—  who  had  no  moral  sense  —  who  had  deceived  her  and 
who  would  continue  to  deceive  her  as  long  as  she  had  any- 
thing to  do  with  him  —  whose  "power  was  the  serpent's" 
and  whose  influence  was  to  destroy,  and  yet  —  and  yet  — 
how  could  it  all  be  ?  Oh,  those  monsters  to  fight !  Could 
he,  with  whom  she  had  talked  about  them,  be  only  one  of 
them,  and  had  he  thus  begun  his  betrayal  of  her  confidence  ? 
How  could  it  all  be  when  her  grandmother  had  received  him 
into  her  home  and  cared  for  him  like  a  son,  and  Mrs.  Drew 
and  Elizabeth  had  liked  him  —  and  yet  —  there  had  been 
strange  reports  of  him  which  had  somehow  spread  abroad 
from  the  house  of  Somers.  Why  had  he  been  attacked  ? 
What  had  he  done  ?  Was  it  something  dishonorable  that 
he  could  not  explain  ?  So  she  questioned  and  answered  with 
herself,  and  questioned  again. 

Why  should  Mrs.  Bings  so  solemnly  warn  her  that  he 
was  a  sinful  man,  from  the  heart  out  ?  It  did  not  show  in 
his  face  nor  in  his  words  —  but  Mrs.  Bings  had  told  her 
that  was  something  men  learned  who  lived  in  the  world  to 


JOYFUL'S  NEW  HOME  385 

which  he  belonged  —  they  learned  to  cover  the  evil  in  their 
hearts  so  cleverly  that  none  could  see  it  Mrs.  Bings  had 
shuddered  to  think  what  would  have  been  Joyful's  fate  had 
she  not  hidden  her  away  in  a  safe  place,  and  Joyful  was 
truly  grateful  to  that  good  woman  for  her  interest  and 
kindness,  and  for  placing  her  in  the  way  of  independence. 
Yet,  even  if  it  were  a  sin  not  to  do  so,  she  could  not  follow 
her  advice  and  hate  Mark  Thorn  —  even  if  he  were  so  bad, 
she  could  not  —  she  must  just  hide  from  him  until  she  ceased 
to  long  to  see  him.  She  must  hide.  So  kindly  and  gently 
he  had  comforted  and  helped  her,  how  could  she  forget ! 

These  lonely  midnight  hours  were  the  only  moments  Joy- 
ful ever  had  to  herself,  when  the  fair  little  boy  was  sleeping 
in  his  small  bed  near  hers,  and  the  two  little  girls  had  ceased 
to  fret  at  and  torment  each  other  while  slumbering  in  the 
nursery,  which  opened  off  from  Joyful's  room.  She  did  not 
even  have  the  night  to  herself,  for  they  were  always  with  her. 
Fortunately,  she  had  a  natural  love  for  children,  and  much 
tact,  and  it  was  not  long  before  she  had  so  won  these  three 
lawless  little  beings,  whom  she  found  thrown  entirely  in  her 
care,  as  to  hold  them  usually  under  control. 

The  two  little  girls  became  rivals  for  her  affection,  and 
crowded  and  pushed  each  other  about  for  the  seat  nearest  her, 
for  the  first  kiss  in  the  morning,  and  the  last  embrace  at  night, 
until  she  found  it  necessary  to  bestow  her  favors  alternately, 
treating  each  with  perfect  fairness.  But  for  the  little  boy, 
who  was  younger  and  frailer  than  his  sisters,  she  cherished 
a  peculiar  fondness.  He  was  sensitive  and  gentle,  clinging 
to  her  hand  when  they  walked  out,  and  when  he  played  by 
her  side  his  eyes  constantly  sought  her  responsive  glance. 
He  loved  to  have  her  sing  to  him,  to  hold  her  guitar  and 


386  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

gently  pick  the  strings.  This  was  his  greatest  delight,  his 
comfort  after  bumps,  his  reward  for  taking  his  medicine, 
or  for  bravely  eating  his  porridge  at  breakfast,  a  food  his 
mother  insisted  on  giving  him,  and  which  the  poor  child 
loathed. 

The  children  saw  little  of  their  mother,  and  less  of  their 
father,  except  on  Sundays,  when  he  usually  took  them  out 
in  the  morning.  They  had  their  dinner  with  their  parents 
on  that  day,  and  it  was  then  only  that  Mr.  Burt  ever  saw 
Joyful,  or  even  awakened  to  a  knowledge  of  her  existence  as 
a  member  of  his  household.  But  gradually  he  became  aware 
that  his  children  were  becoming  attractive  —  that  there 
was  less  wrangling  and  noise,  and  occasionally,  instead  of 
going  down  to  his  office  and  sitting  there,  as  being  more  at 
home  than  in  his  own  house  of  a  Sunday  afternoon,  he 
dropped  into  the  nursery  and  spent  the  hours  with  his  little 
son  in  a  pleasant  contentment  new  to  him.  He  would  lie 
on  the  floor  watching  Harry  build  cars  and  block  railway 
stations,  giving  him  a  helping  hand  now  and  then,  and 
listening  to  Joyful  read  Hans  Andersen's  "  Fairy  Tales  "  to 
the  little  girls. 

It  was  about  this  time  that  Mrs.  Burt  decided  she  must 
make  a  few  bold  strokes  for  position.  She  filled  her  house 
with  guests.  Occasionally  she  would  exploit  an  artist  or 
musician  who  was  willing  to  be  taken  up,  at  her  dinners  and 
musicales.  She  gave  Browning  afternoons  and  Emerson 
breakfasts  for  the  literary  set,  and  theater  parties  and  late 
suppers  for  the  gayer  crowd.  Since  it  was  difficult  to  drag 
her  husband  into  these  social  functions,  she  was  frequently 
obliged  to  do  without  his  presence  entirely,  substituting 
therefor  the  services  of  a  tame  cat  —  one  of  those  interesting 


JOYFUL'S  NEW  HOME  387 

beings  whose  sex  is  determined  by  their  costume,  and  who 
poses  and  purrs  contentedly  at  a  married  woman's  elbow, 
under  the  stroke  of  her  caressing  hand. 

On  these  occasions,  Joyful  was  pressed  into  constant 
service.  She  was  always  tastefully  dressed  and  expected 
to  be  present  whenever  there  was  any  demand  made  for  the 
children.  Although  the  labor  of  a  servant  was  exacted  from 
her,  that  fact  was  never  admitted,  and  she  was  always  known 
among  guests  and  acquaintances  as  "Mam'selle  Antoinette." 
Thus  the  days  and  weeks  passed  until  the  tune  when  Mrs. 
Burt  decided  that  the  family  must  make  a  trip  abroad. 
Everyone  else  went  abroad,  and  she  imagined  that  after 
a  year  spent  on  the  continent,  she  would  be  able  to  return 
and  begin  over  again  at  the  point  she  was  at  present  unable 
to  reach. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

OVERTAXED 

"  Awake,  aspire 

To  immortality ;  heed  not  the  lyre 
Of  the  enchantress,  nor  her  poppy-song ; 
But  in  the  stillness  of  the  summer  calm, 
Tremble  for  what  is  Godlike  in  thy  being. 
Listen  awhile,  and  thou  shalt  hear  the  psalm 
Of  victory  sung  by  creatures  past  thy  seeing." 

—  GEORGE  MACDONALD,  LL.D. 

BEING  thwarted  in  her  purpose  by  the  illness  of  her  little 
son,  Mrs.  Burt  decided  one  course  only  was  left  her.  She 
would  not  open  her  house,  but  take  a  cottage  at  Newport 
for  the  season.  There  she  could  gather  people  about  her 
and  perhaps  accomplish  more  than  her  other  plan  would 
secure  for  her.  While  arrangements  were  being  made  for 
this  change,  they  went  to  a  hotel,  with  the  sick  child  under 
Joyful's  care,  but  the  family  physician  promptly  inter- 
fered, and  insisted  on  having  Harry  removed  to  a  hospital 
where  he  could  have  scientific  nursing  and  perfect  quiet. 
But  even  so,  the  little  fellow  grew  rapidly  worse.  His 
trouble  was  an  obscure  one,  seemingly  an  affection  of  the 
brain,  and  after  his  removal  he  was  never  calm  a  moment, 
but  wept  and  called  continually  for  Mam'selle  Antoinette, 
until  at  last  the  physician  sent  for  her,  and  a  place  was  pro- 
vided where  she  could  be  near  him  night  and  day.  With 
the  tyranny  of  love  he  clung  to  her,  giving  her  no  rest.  His 
great  eyes  followed  her  hungrily  when  she  went  out,  and 

388 


OVERTAXED  389 

watched  unceasingly  for  her  return.  When  she  was  with 
him,  his  mind  seemed  at  peace,  and  he  rested  contentedly, 
—  a  condition  which  brought  rapid  improvement ;  but  when 
she  was  called  away  by  Mrs.  Burt  for  other  affairs,  the  child 
drooped  and  failed,  apparently  losing  all  he  had  gained. 

"If  you  wish  your  child  to  recover,"  said  the  physician 
to  Mrs.  Burt  one  day,  "I  would  advise  you  to  allow  Made- 
moiselle to  remain  with  him.  Don't  take  her  away  for  any- 
thing, except  with  my  consent." 

"Oh,  Doctor,"  wailed  that  lady,  "everything  —  every- 
thing shall  be  done  for  Harry  that  money  can  do." 

"But  my  dear  Madam,  it  is  not  a  question  of  money. 
He  needs  the  alchemy  —  of  a  loving  heart.  His  trouble  is 
of  the  brain,  and  he  must  suffer  no  longing,  no  irritation. 
Grant  him  anything  he  desires.  If  it  is  Mademoiselle,  — 
very  simple,  —  let  him  have  her." 

"Of  course,  yet  she  has  duties  here,  also.  The  little  girls 
must  not  be  neglected,  you  know,  and  we  go  to  Newport 
just  as  soon  as  Harry  is  well  enough  to  be  moved." 

"Oh,  you  do!"  exclaimed  the  doctor,  with  some  relief. 
"Well,  why  not  go  without  waiting?  Leave  him  where  he 
is  and  allow  Mademoiselle  to  remain  with  him." 

"Oh,  Doctor  —  you  know  a  mother's  heart." 

"Yes  —  I  know,"  he  said,  coldly. 

"And  here  I  am  ready  to  go  to  him  at  any  time." 

"Of  course,  of  course;  and  when  he  demands  you,  go. 
He  's  a  delicate  instrument,  delicately  strung.  Make  the 
tension  too  great,  and  he  is  gone.  Let  him  have  what  he 
craves  ;  give  him  his  heart's  content.  Unless  he  calls  for 
you,  the  child  will  be  just  as  well  off  if  the  family  is  in 
Newport  instead  of  here." 


3QO  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

"That  girl  seems  to  have  bewitched  him,"  said  the  mother, 
fretfully. 

"Best  thing  for  him.  Let  him  have  her  undisturbed,  and 
you  go  to  Newport,  and  when  he  is  well  enough,  take  him 
out  there  for  change  of  air." 

Having  the  doctor's  advice  to  sustain  her,  Mrs.  Burt,  the 
little  girls,  and  a  retinue  of  servants  went  to  the  cottage  at 
Newport,  the  father  remaining  at  the  hotel  and  burying  him- 
self in  his  business,  more  silent  and  taciturn  than  ever. 
Sometimes  he  would  go  to  his  family  for  a  Sunday,  but 
usually  in  his  vacant  hours  he  haunted  the  hospital  where 
his  little  boy  lay.  He  brought  him  flowers  and  toys,  and 
often  was  rewarded  by  the  sight  of  the  frail  child's  pleasure, 
as  the  little  fellow  would  smile  up  at  him  and  let  his  small 
hand  lie  passive  in  his  father's  large  one.  These  were  the 
only  moments  when  Joyful  was  allowed  to  escape  for  a  short 
walk  in  the  air. 

"It  is  contrary  to  all  rule  to  have  an  untrained  girl,  an 
outsider,  here  doing  these  things,"  said  the  head  nurse  to 
the  doctor,  one  day.  "  It 's  my  opinion  that  child  should 
be  made  to  obey." 

"State  your  case,  state  your  case,"  said  the  doctor,  curtly. 
"What  harm  is  being  done?" 

"Only  the  breaking  of  the  rules  of  the  hospital." 

"  It 's  a  question  of  the  boy's  life  or  your  rules,  hey  ?  Save 
the  child  and  damn  the  rules,  then." 

"Very  well,  sir,"  said  the  nurse,  turning  away. 

Harry  would  take  his  food  from  no  one  else.  If  Joyful 
were  not  there,  he  would  not  eat.  No  other  hand  might 
bathe  his  fevered  limbs.  She  must  not  leave  his  room  at 
night.  If  one  of  the  nurses  took  the  cot  at  his  side  during 


OVERTAXED  391 

his  sleep,  to  give  Joyful  a  chance  for  an  uninterrupted  rest, 
he  would  waken,  and  his  screams,  as  if  of  fright,  would  soon 
bring  her  back  to  him.  Thus  it  came  about  that  only  when 
he  lay  with  his  hand  in  his  father's,  could  she  have  any 
change.  Mr.  Burt  noticed  at  last  that  Joyful  was  growing 
paler  and  thinner. 

"How  much  are  you  getting  for  all  this?"  he  asked 
abruptly  one  day,  as  he  looked  in  her  weary  eyes. 

"I  have  my  salary,"  she  replied,  in  some  surprise. 

"Yes,  yes.     But  how  much?" 

"I  have  fifteen  dollars  a  month." 

"What  ?  "  he  said,  rising  suddenly,  and  towering  over  her. 

"And  Mrs.  Burt  has  given  me  help  about  my  clothing," 
she  continued.  "I  haven't  had  to  pay  so  much  for  it  as 
if  — "  but  he  waited  to  hear  no  more,  and  stamped  out  of 
the  room  with  a  muttered  oath. 

"Papa,  you  didn't  say  good-bye  to  me,"  wailed  Harry. 

He  returned  quickly  to  the  boy's  bedside  and  bent  ten- 
derly over  him. 

"Good-bye,  Harry,  boy.  You  must  get  well,  so  father 
won't  have  to  say  good-bye.  Father  wants  you  to  grow 
up  to  be  a  man  and  help  him." 

"Perhaps  I  will,"  said  the  child,  holding  his  father's 
bearded  face  close  to  his  cheek.  Then  he  released  him  and 
went  off  into  one  of  his  sudden  sleeps.  His  father  stood 
a  few  moments  sadly  looking  down  on  him;  then  turning  to 
Joyful  he  said:  — 

"You  are  being  worn  out.  We  must  do  something  about 
it." 

"Oh,  no.  Harry  is  all  I  have  to  love  now,  Mr.  Burt.  I 
would  love  him  well  again  if  I  could.  I  am  glad,  glad  he 


392  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

wants  me."  They  spoke  in  low  tones,  and  Mr.  Burt  tip- 
toed softly  away.  The  next  day  Joyful  received  a  check 
from  him  for  a  hundred  dollars.  "Put  it  away.  You  may 
need  it  sometime,"  he  said  in  his  note. 

These  early  weeks  of  summer  dragged  slowly,  until  at  last 
definite  improvement  in  Harry's  condition  began,  which 
showed  first  in  a  request  to  see  his  little  sisters,  and  later  he 
was  removed  to  the  sea,  and  a  quiet  corner  of  the  cottage- 
was  devoted  to  him  and  Joyful,  after  which  for  a  time  his 
improvement  became  more  rapid.  Yet  when  he  should 
have  been  able  to  run  about  and  play  in  the  sand  with  the 
rest,  he  seemed  to  have  lost  the  full  control  of  his  little  limbs, 
and  had  to  be  carried  in  the  arms,  or  wheeled  in  his  chair. 
Then  Mr.  Burt  gave  up  all  work  in  town,  and  devoted  his 
time  entirely  to  his  little  son,  and  then  the  roses  came 
faintly  back  into  JoyfuPs  cheeks. 

During  these  days  there  were  gay  doings  in  the  Burt  cot- 
tage at  Newport.  Mrs.  Burt  felt  that  at  last  she  had  gained 
a  point,  and  become  the  leader  of  a  set.  She  had  given  up 
the  intellectual  cult,  and  her  intimates  were  among  the 
gayest  frequenters  of  the  gay  resort.  Her  wines  were  of  the 
best,  and  the  conventional  restraints  of  Boston  were  thrown 
off.  Young  men  haunted  her  house  and  hovered  about  her 
sideboard ;  night  was  turned  into  day,  and  high  play  at  cards 
was  the  rule ;  merriment  reigned  supreme,  and  everything 
was  free.  There  excursions  were  planned  and  theatricals  re- 
hearsed. In  these  last,  Joyful 's  services  were  often  required 
to  help  fashion  costumes  or  arrange  scenes.  She  was  the 
more  helpful  for  her  wide  reading  of  romance  and  active 
imagination.  Had  she  not  been  living  plays  all  her  life 
until  during  the  last  year  ?  Sometimes  she  was  given  a  part, 


OVERTAXED  393 

when  needed  to  help  out,  and  this  she  greatly  enjoyed. 
Soon  she  began  to  be  noticed  by  the  frequenters  of  the  house, 
who  felt  the  charm  of  her  bright,  innocent  quaintness,  as  of 
a  rare  wild  flower  in  their  midst,  and  it  pleased  them  to  test 
her  originality,  until  she  came  to  be  in  constant  demand, 
and  it  was  "Mademoiselle  Antoinette"  here  and  "Made- 
moiselle Antoinette"  there.  Sometimes  the  ways  and 
manners  of  these  people  astonished  her  greatly,  and  often, 
utterly  weary  of  everything,  she  slipped  away  from  them 
all  to  Harry's  room  and  hid  her  head  in  sadness,  longing 
for  her  old  home  and  the  old  simple  life  and  love,  by  the 
sea. 

Oh,  how  she  longed  to  see  Elizabeth,  and  to  hear  the 
sweet,  high-bred  voice  of  Mrs.  Drew !  One  day  a  bright 
idea  struck  her.  She  wrote  to  the  little  post-office  at 
Woodbury  Center,  asking  if  there  were  any  letters  for  her. 
Why  had  she  never  thought  of  that  before  ?  Letters  from 
Elizabeth,  three  of  them,  came  to  light,  each  succeeding 
letter  more  anxious  than  the  one  preceding  and  the  last 
telling  of  her  marriage  and  happiness,  and  ending:  "Now, 
Joyful,  neglect  me  no  longer.  I  am  troubled  that  I  do  not 
hear  from  you.  Whatever  you  are  doing,  or  wherever  you 
are,  if  this  reaches  you,  I  am  sure  you  will  write  to  your  old 
friend."  Then  Joyful  wrote  for  the  first  time,  giving  the 
details  of  the  loss  of  her  grandparents,  and  saying  simply 
that  as  she  knew  she  could  not  remain  alone  in  the  little 
home,  with  no  means  of  support,  she  was  now  living  with 
a  Boston  family,  and  had  the  care  of  their  little  son  who  was 
very  ill.  She  gave  Elizabeth  the  address  at  Newport,  and 
this  was  sent  in  Nathanael's  next  letter  to  Mark  Thorn,  and 
followed  him  from  New  York  to  Paris,  then  to  Rome,  then 


394  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

to  Florence,  and  from  there  back  to  Rome,  until  it  was  many 
weeks  old  before  he  received  it. 

Gladly  would  Mark  have  taken  the  earliest  steamer  for 
home,  but  he  was  delayed  most  vexatiously,  having  to  go 
to  Paris  again,  and  then  to  London  before  all  his  commissions 
were  satisfactorily  filled.  Five  long  weeks  had  elapsed 
since  he  had  heard  from  Marie  Vaile,  and  then  only  that 
the  Burts  were  not  in  Boston.  At  a  venture  he  wrote  her 
again,  addressing  her  as  before,  but  not  knowing  whether 
her  restless  spirit  had  taken  her  elsewhere.  He  knew  of  no 
one  but  Marie  to  whom  to  trust  the  search  without  sub- 
jecting Joyful  to  unpleasant  consequences,  but  he  deter- 
mined to  do  nothing  after  his  return  until  he  had  found 
her. 

In  the  meantime,  summer  waned,  and  Harry  had  so  far 
recovered  that  the  plan  to  go  abroad  was  again  broached, 
and  their  return  to  Boston  hastened  on  that  account ;  but 
no  sooner  were  they  at  home  than  his  condition  again  began 
to  cause  anxiety.  One  evening  as  he  lay  in  Joyful 's  arms 
listening  for  the  hundredth  time  to  the  story  of  "  Kay  and 
little  Cerda,  and  the  Snow  Queen,"  he  lifted  his  head  from 
her  shoulder  and  looked  steadfastly  in  her  eyes. 

"Mam'selle  Antoinette,  do  people  ever  get  slivers  of 
that  glass  in  their  eyes,  really  and  truly?"  he  asked. 
"Did  mamma  ever?" 

"  It  is  not  really  a  sliver  of  glass,  Harry.  It  means  some- 
thing else." 

"What  does  it  mean?" 

"It  means  something  that  gets  in  their  hearts,  making 
them  hard  and  cold,  caring  only  for  themselves." 

"What  does  mamma  care  most  for  in  her  heart ?" 


OVERTAXED  395 

Joyful  drew  him  closer  in  her  arms.  "I  don't  know, 
Harry  dear;  let 's  finish  the  story  now,  shall  we?" 

He  cuddled  down  and  was  quiet,  but  presently  he  spoke 
again,  dreamily.  "I  know  what  papa  loves  most  in  his 
heart.  He  loves  money  best  of  all,  and  me  next.  Does  n't 
he?" 

"Oh,  Harry,  Harry,  darling!  He  loves  you  more,  far 
more  than  his  money." 

"  But  he  spends  all  his  time  getting  money,  and  only  sees 
me  a  little." 

"The  money  is  all  for  you  and  your  little  sisters,  Harry; 
and  it  is  your  father's  work  to  get  it.  Men  must  attend 
to  their  work,  but  he  would  give  all  his  money  in  a  minute 
if  it  would  only  make  his  little  boy  well  again." 

"Yes.  When  will  he  come?  My  hands  are  cold.  I 
want  him  to  hold  them." 

Then  Joyful  called  his  small  sister  Cora  May  from  the 
adjoining  room.  "Go  tell  your  father  Harry  wishes  to 
see  him,  dear.  He  must  be  at  home  by  this  time." 

"Sing,"  he  murmured,  laying  his  head  heavily  on  her 
shoulder  again,  and  Joyful  sang  softly  Schubert's  air  of 
"The  Wanderer,"  while  she  rocked  him  in  her  arms  and 
thought  of  Elizabeth.  Presently  Mr.  Burt  entered  and 
stood  looking  down  at  them.  He  gently  took  Harry's 
hand.  The  child's  fingers  were  cold  and  did  not  close 
around  his  own  as  usual.  Suddenly  he  stooped  and  gently 
lifted  his  boy  in  his  arms  and  held  him  clasped  to  his  breast. 
"My  God!"  he  whispered.  The  child  slowly  opened  his 
eyes  and  looked  in  his  father's  face,  drew  a  long,  sighing 
breath  as  of  contentment,  and  was  gone. 

After  that  moment  came  a  sudden  and  terrible  reaction 


396  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

for  Joyful.  Her  strength  had  been  so  long  taxed  to  the 
uttermost,  under  conditions  unnatural  to  her,  that  she 
suffered  from  a  species  of  nervous  collapse,  which  took  a 
morbid  turn,  partly  induced  by  the  reproaches  of  Harry's 
mother.  Why  had  she  not  mentioned  more  particularly 
Harry's  condition  so  that  measures  might  have  been  taken 
to  save  him?  Why  had  she  been  silent?  No  doubt  he 
would  be  living  now  and  on  the  road  to  complete  recovery 
had  some  prompt  remedy  been  administered.  It  was 
undoubtedly  the  crisis  he  was  passing  through,  and  would 
have  been  the  turning  point  for  the  better  had  something 
only  been  done  at  the  moment.  Mam'selle,  having  been 
with  him  all  the  time,  should  have  been  able  to  judge  by 
his  symptoms  what  his  condition  was,  but  to  sit  and  calmly 
let  him  die  in  her  arms  — what  was  she  thinking  of  !  All 
these  and  many  more  bitter  complaints  reached  her  ears, 
but  still  Mrs.  Burt  had  no  idea  of  allowing  her  to  go  when 
she  asked  to  be  released  from  her  position,  and  so  Joy- 
ful stayed  on,  drooping  from  day  to  day,  until  at  last 
the  physician,  attending  one  of  the  little  girls  for  some 
slight  ailment,  noticed  her  condition,  and  called  Mrs. 
Burt's  attention  to  it.  He  ordered  peremptorily  that  she 
be  taken  to  the  hospital  for  restoration,  where  Harry  had 
been. 

"She  '11  be  all  right  in  a  few  weeks,  if  you  do  as  I  say.  If 
not,  she'll  die,"  he  said  roughly.  "Take  your  choice." 

Thus  it  came  about  that  while  the  summer  still  lingered 
into  the  early  fall  and  the  days  were  oppressive  with  heat, 
Joyful  was  taken  to  the  same  cool  white  room  where  Harry 
had  been  so  carefully  tended  by  her,  and  there  was  put  to 
bed  and  gently  nursed,  even  as  he  had  been. 


OVERTAXED  397 

"You  have  something  on  your  mind,"  the  doctor  said  to 
her  abruptly  one  day.  "What  is  it ?  A  lover ? " 

"Oh,  no,  Doctor."  She  looked  steadily  in  his  eyes  as 
they  keenly  searched  her  face,  but  she  grew  a  shade  paler. 

"Out  with  it,  out  with  it,  come,"  he  said,  as  he  drew  a 
chair  near  the  bed. 

"I  can't,  Doctor;  I  haven't  anything  to  out  with."  She 
smiled  wanly.  "I  had  one  lover  once,  but  I  did  not  love 
him.  He  was  not  a  true  knight,  only  a  boy  grown  up." 

"Not  a  true  knight  ?    What  do  you  mean  ?" 

A  little  fluttering  sigh  escaped  her,  and  closing  her  eyes 
she  placed  her  folded  hands  under  her  cheek.  "Nothing 
but  dreams,  Doctor.  I  used  to  read  about  the  knights 
and  ladies  of  the  olden  days,  and  I  used  to  think  I  would 
sometime  have  a  lover,  and  would  love  him,  a  true  knight, 
who  would  achieve  some  great,  good  thing."  She  opened 
her  eyes  again  and  gazed  in  his  face,  which  had  grown  very 
kindly  and  tender.  "Of  course  that  was  very  long  ago. 
I  understand  many  things  now  that  I  did  n't  know  then.  I 
have  grown  old  since  that  time." 

"Tut,  tut,  tut,"  he  laughed  loudly. 

"  Yes,  it  is  true.     I  have  lived  so  much  in  so  short  a  while. " 

"Tell  me,"  he  said  kindly,  "all  you  have  done  since  you 
left  your  home.  Why  did  you  leave  it?  Where  did  you 
go?" 

"I  lost  my  grandparents,  and  I  had  to  go  to  —  earn  my 
living.  Oh,  I  can't  talk  about  it  now,  Doctor." 

"You  can't  tell  me  anything  ?"  he  said,  still  more  gently. 
"You  see,  Mademoiselle  Antoinette,  if  there  is,  or  has  been, 
anything  troubling  you,  and  I  can  remove  the  cause,  you 
will  get  well  much  faster.  You  are  young  and  ought  to  be 


398  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

gay  and  light-hearted.  A  sad  heart  saps  the  vitality,  or  a 
heart  with  an  unsatisfied  hunger  in  it." 

"Doctor,  tell  me  truly,  was  it  my  fault  Harry  died?  I 
would  rather  have  died  myself.  I  had  no  one  else  to  love, 
and  —  now  I  have  no  one  at  all." 

"Thunder,  no!"  The  doctor  rose,  and  paced  angrily 
up  and  down  the  room.  "He  couldn't  have  lived.  No 
power  on  earth  could  have  saved  him.  It  was  a  blessing  he 
died  when  he  did,  poor  little  chap."  He  sat  beside  her 
again,  and  took  one  hand  from  beneath  her  cheek  and  held 
it,  patting  it  softly.  "I  have  a  little  girl  at  home  just  about 
your  age,  but  she 's  a  gay  one.  Why  did  you  ask  that 
question,  Mademoiselle  ?  " 

"Mrs.  Burt  thought  that  if  I  had  been  more  observant 
and  prompt,  that  — " 

"She's  a  fool." 

Joyful  took  her  hand  away  and  placed  it  under  her  cheek 
again.  "It  will  help  me  to  get  well  to  know  I  couldn't 
have  done  anything."  Then  she  added  after  a  pause, 
"And  it  helps  me  also,  your  being  so  kind."  She  did  not 
like  to  take  her  hand  from  his,  yet  she  felt  abashed  at  the 
caress.  Nevertheless,  his  gentle  sympathy  comforted  her. 

"Is  that  your  trouble,  then  ?  Is  it  all  you  have  on  your 
mind?" 

"Yes  —  no  —  I  can't  say  —  I  haven't  any  one  to  get 
well  for,  and  it  is  hard  to  try.  I  really  think  I  don't  care. 
If  it  is  n't  wicked  to  feel  so  —  I  think  I  would  rather  lie 
still  and  —  go  out.  They  are  all  gone  —  the  ones  I  loved." 
She  lay  sadly  silent,  and  the  doctor  sat  pondering.  She 
must  be  roused  to  care  for  her  life,  or  she  would  "go  out," 
even  as  she  said.  He  pulled  at  his  mustache  —  took  a 


OVERTAXED  399 

cigar  from  his  pocket  case,  then  struck  a  match,  but  forgot 
to  light  it.  Suddenly  he  became  illuminated  with  the 
central  light  of  her  nature.  "  If  it  is  n't  wicked  to  feel  so — " 
That  was  the  point  on  which  to  touch. 

"Yes,  it  is  wicked  to  feel  so  —  it's  damned  wicked !" 
he  burst  out  with  startling  emphasis.  "I  —  ahem!  — 
Have  you  done  anything  in  particular  yet  to  feel  that  you 
have  a  right  to  let  go?  Every  one  has  some  business  in 
the  world,  or  —  or  —  he  would  n't  have  been  put  in  it  — 
Ahem — "  He  felt  himself  to  be  running  aground  in  his 
theology,  for,  like  old  Chaucer's  "Physician,"  "His  study 
was  but  litil  in  the  bibil."  Joyful  raised  herself,  and  looked 
at  the  doctor  intently,  and  he,  with  assumed  ministerial 
gravity,  returned  the  gaze.  Like  a  true  physician,  he  must 
follow  any  line  that  led  to  healing,  and  he  reiterated,  "Yes, 
it  is  damned  wicked  to  feel  so,  you  know  — "  He  realized 
that  his  phrase  was  hardly  the  scriptural  one,  but  nothing 
better  suggested  itself.  "  You  're  too  young  to  have  finished 
all  your  work.  There 's  plenty  to  do  —  plenty  to  do.  You 
don't  know  —  why,  somebody  may  be  needing  you  this 
very  minute  —  may  be  passing  this  building  now  who  needs 
you.  Oh,  I  own  it 's  easier  to  shut  your  eyes  and  drop  out 
of  the  world,  but  you  have  no  right  to  do  that  at  your  age 
-you  must  find  out  what  you  were  put  here  for  first  — 
Ahem!" 

"I  think  I  understand  what  you  mean.  Even  weak  and 
sick  people  have  their  monsters  to  fight.  Perhaps  it  is  just 
the  desire  to  die  and  leave  their  work  undone  that  coils 
around  their  hearts,  and  makes  them  cold  and  faint." 

"That's  it,  by  Heaven !    You'll  work  it  out." 

"I  think  I  know  some  one  —  that  may  —  perhaps  — 
need  me,  but  I  have  lost  her." 


4oo  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

"Ah,  that 's  right.  Get  well  and  find  her."  He  rose  and 
moved  restlessly  about,  and  spoke  again,  as  if  to  himself. 
"Damn  it,  that 's  the  right  tack."  Then  he  came  back  and 
stood  a  moment  looking  down  into  her  clear  eyes.  "  Good- 
bye. You  get  well,  right  straight,  and  then  you  find  her. 
To  die  would  be  a  sin,  a  terrible  sin."  He  took  her  hand 
again  from  under  her  chin  and,  stooping,  touched  it  with  his 
lips,  and  strode  rapidly  away,  muttering,  "Damn  it." 

The  fumes  of  his  cigar  came  back  to  her  as  he  lighted  it 
just  outside  the  door.  It  reminded  her  of  Mark  Thorn,  and 
a  pang  shot  through  her  heart.  She  quivered  from  head 
to  foot  and,  covering  her  face  with  her  hands,  cowered  in 
the  pillow  and  sobbed.  But  it  was  a  saving  sorrow,  after 
all.  She  wanted  to  live,  if  only  to  see  him  once  more. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

AN  AMBITIOUS  WOMAN'S  HUSBAND 

"  There'dwelt  sweet  love  and  constant  chastity, 
Unspotted  faith,  and  comely  womanhood, 
Regard  of  honor,  and  mild  modesty ; 
There  virtue  reigns  as  queen  in  loyal  throne, 
And  giveth  laws  alone, 
The  which  the  base  affections  do  obey, 
And  yield  their  services  unto  her  will ; 
Nor  thought  of  thing  uncomely  ever  may 
Thereto  approach,  to  tempt  her  mind  to  ill." 

— EPITHALAMTOM. 

FROM  that  day  Joyful  gained  in  strength.  After  all,  she 
was  young  and  buoyant,  and  the  thought  the  doctor  had 
given  took  possession  of  her  poetic  soul  and  made  her 
restoration  to  health  an  imperative  duty.  Some  one 
might  be  needing  her  —  might  be  waiting  for  her  recovery. 
She  began  speculating  as  to  whom  it  might  be.  Was  it 
any  one  she  had  known,  or  was  a  new  person  to  come  into 
her  life?  Surely  something  yet  awaited  her  out  in  the 
great  world;  was  she  not  still  young,  not  even  twenty? 
And  once  again,  although  with  maturer  mind,  she  saw 
visions  and  dreamed  dreams,  and  the  horizon  of  her  future 
glowed  warmly  enticing,  through  their  dim  and  roseate 
haze.  Who  was  waiting  for  her  ?  Might  it  be  Marie  Vaile? 
They  could  go  back  to  the  little  cottage  in  the  cove  and  live 
there  happily  together,  and  do  something  to  earn  money,  — 

401 


402  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

raise  flowers,  or  keep  bees;  indeed,  there  were  many  things 
they  could  do,  and  be  so  safe  and  happy.  She  could  make 
butter.  Mr.  Thorn  had  told  her  he  liked  her  butter,  and 
he  —  her  heart  seemed  to  lose  a  beat  at  the  sudden  thought 
—  what  if  he  might  be  the  one  who  needed  her  !  But  that — 
that  could  never  be  —  never  —  never.  It  made  her  sad 
that,  however  her  thoughts  might  wander,  they  inevitably 
came  back  to  him.  How  could  a  man  seem  right  and  beauti- 
ful and  yet  be  so  evil  that  even  to  think  of  him  was  wrong  ? 
Mrs.  Bings  had  told  her  she  had  no  doubt  that  all  Marie's 
wrongdoing  might  be  traced  back  to  him,  and  had  not  that 
beautiful  Mrs.  Stevens  who  sold  flowers  at  the  Hospital 
charity  fete  told  Mrs.  Burt  she  had  seen  a  woman  as 
beautiful  as  a  dream  posing  for  him  in  his  studio,  an  Eng- 
lish girl  ?  It  might  have  been  Marie,  and  there  could  be  no 
other  Mr.  Thorn  who  was  also  an  artist.  She  must  believe 
it,  and  when  such  sadness  and  wreck  had  been  brought 
about  by  him,  she  was  filled  with  chagrin  that  she  could 
still  think  of  him  and  long  for  him.  What  a  wrong  heart 
she  must  have  that  she  could  not  shut  it  against  him  and 
hate  him! 

Resolutely  she  turned  her  thoughts  away  from  him  and 
questioned  what  she  should  do  next.  The  Burt  family 
were  to  sail  in  a  few  days,  and  she  was  to  be  left  behind. 
Mrs.  Burt  had  never  sent  to  inquire  whether  the  little 
Mademoiselle  who  had  almost  given  her  life  for  her  son  was 
living  or  dead.  Mr.  Burt  had  been  several  times  to  ask 
after  her,  and  had  sent  her  flowers  now  and  then,  but, 
being  a  silent  man,  had  spoken  of  her  to  no  one. 

On  the  last  Sunday  afternoon  before  their  departure  he 
called  for  Joyful  and  asked  if  she  were  not  well  enough  to 


AN  AMBITIOUS  WOMAN'S  HUSBAND     403 

be  taken  for  a  drive.  The  air  was  dry  and  the  day  one  of 
those  sweet  September  echoes  of  summer.  Yes,  the  nurse 
was  glad  to  have  her  out  for  a  time,  but  he  must  not  fatigue 
her ;  so  she  was  dressed  and  walked  languidly  out,  and  was 
helped  to  a  seat  by  Mr.  Burt's  side.  He  was  fond  of  a  fine 
team  and  always  drove  himself,  and  being  of  a  conservative 
nature  he  had  resisted  thus  far  his  wife's  entreaties  to 
purchase  an  automobile. 

"I  don't  care  for  them,"  he  would  say;  "they  are  new- 
fangled and  noisy,  and  they  have  a  bad  smell." 

The  horses  were  easy  travelers  and  swift,  and  until  they 
were  out  on  the  quieter  streets  Mr.  Burt  gave  himself  to 
the  pleasure  of  driving  them,  with  no  apparent  heed  to  his 
companion,  while  Joyful  lay  back  against  the  cushions  and 
yielded  herself  to  the  delicious  pleasure  of  the  moment. 
She  let  the  troublesome  thought  of  what  she  should  do  next 
slip  away  from  her,  and  listened  in  silence  to  the  rhythmic 
beat  of  the  horses'  feet,  and  drew  in  deep  breaths  of  the 
sweet  air.  The  warm  sunlight  glowed  over  everything, 
and  showers  of  yellow  leaves  were  falling  with  every  lightest 
wind  that  stirred  the  trees.  She  felt  she  would  like  to  ride 
on  like  this  forever,  if  the  wind  were  always  soft  and  the 
sun  warm,  and  care  would  only  leave  her  and  let  her  rest  so. 

Presently  Mr.  Burt  turned  and  looked  at  her.  "Nice 
day,"  he  remarked. 

"Yes.  It  is  so  good  of  you  to  take  me  out.  What  made 
you  think  of  it?" 

"Nothing  else  to  do  —  Harry  gone,  you  gone,  house 
lonely  —  spent  the  morning  in  the  office  and  then  deter- 
mined to  come  after  you.  Good  idea." 

"The  house  isn't  usually  lonely  on  Sunday,  is  it?" 


404  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

"Oh,  no.  Usual  crowd  there.  She  has  something  going 
on  this  evening,  I  guess  —  looked  like  it."  Joyful  gave 
a  little  sigh.  She  was  thinking  of  the  utter  loneliness  and 
incongruity  of  this  man's  life.  "Tired?"  he  asked. 

"  Oh,  no.  I  am  so  happy  to  be  out  once  more,  I  was  think- 
ing a  moment  ago  I  would  love  to  go  on  like  this  forever." 

"You  can,  if  you  want  to,  you  know." 

She  laughed  a  gay  little  laugh.  "Yes,  if  the  world  would 
only  stand  still,  and  the  sun  would  shine  always,  and  the 
horses  never  tire,  and  the  night  would  never  come." 

"I  suppose  you  wouldn't  think,  now,  of  coming  back, 
would  you  ?  I  '11  take  you  with  us,  just  say  the  word." 

"Oh,  I  couldn't,  I  couldn't!"  she  cried,  quite  without 
thought ;  but  she  recoiled  from  the  idea  of  living  longer  in 
the  home  which  had  never  seemed  a  home  in  the  sense  the 
word  meant  to  her,  and  which,  since  Harry's  death,  had  been 
unbearable.  "I  could  n't,  indeed,  Mr.  Burt;  I'm  sorry." 

"Guess  you  'd  better  come." 

"The  little  girls  don't  need  me.  When  Mrs.  Burt  is  in 
France,  she  can  find  a  governess  who  can  teach  them  much 
better  than  I  can,  one  who  won't  be  tempted  to  speak 
English  to  them." 

"I  don't  care  about  their  French  nonsense.  She  can 
have  them  taught  Chocktaw,  if  she  wants  to.  I  only  care 
to  keep  you  in  the  house.  You  '11  be  better  off  than  knocking 
about,  and  —  by  George  !  I  want  you  there.  With  Harry 
gone,  and  you  gone — it 's—  What  are  you  going  to  do  ?" 

"I  don't  know.  The  nurse  who  showed  me  how  to  take 
care  of  Harry  thinks  she  can  find  me  something  to  do,  and 
—  I  have  the  money  you  gave  me  still  untouched.  You 
have  been  most  kind  to  me,  Mr.  Burt."  Her  eyes  filled 


AN  AMBITIOUS  WOMAN'S   HUSBAND      405 

with  tears,  and  he  saw  them,  and  his  big,  tender  heart  was 
touched.  He  muttered  an  oath  between  his  teeth.  He 
knew  very  well  what  he  would  like  to  do,  and  had  been 
revolving  the  scheme  in  his  mind  for  some  time,  trying  to 
make  it  seem  the  only  right  thing,  and  when  he  saw  the 
tears  he  decided  to  try  his  plan,  come  what  might. 

"I  Ve  a  mind  to  throw  up  my  hand,"  he  said.  "I  don't 
hold  any  cards  worth  while,  as  it  is,  and  I  might  as  well." 
He  paused,  and  Joyful  looked  in  his  face  and  was  silent. 
"I  Ve  spent  all  my  life  in  getting  money,  and  I  've  worked 
hard  —  well  —  I  Ve  got  it,  no  denying  that,  all  I  need, 
and  enough  for  her  to  spend,  I  guess.  I  'm  thinking  I  won't 
sail  with  her  next  Monday  —  that  is,  if  you  choose  not  to 
come  back.  She  can  take  her  share  of  the  money  and  go, 
if  she  wants  to.  She  has  n't  made  the  home  much  of  a  place 
for  me,  as  I  can  see."  He  paused  and  glanced  at  Joyful. 
She  was  still  silent  and  regarded  him  gravely.  Then  he 
continued,  as  if  he  were  not  so  much  addressing  her  as  talk- 
ing to  himself  audibly.  "Damn  !  I  should  say  she  hasn't. 
Her  way  of  running  things  does  n't  count  me  in  any  farther 
than  to  keep  her  pocket-book  filled.  I  '11  just  fill  it  for  her 
once  for  all  and  let  her  go  —  if  you  '11  - 

"But,  Mr.  Burt !  Don't  do  that !  Go  with  them— for 
the  sake  of  the  children.  Everything  will  be  different  over 
there,  and  you  will  find  so  much  abroad  to  interest  your- 
self and  them.  You  are  n't  even  acquainted  with  your  own 
little  girls,  I  believe." 

"I  know  my  own  children  better  than  you  think, 
Mam'selle;  those  two  youngsters  will  grow  up  to  be  just 
like  their  —  I  '11  find  as  much  pleasure  in  them  as  I  would  in 
a  green  parrot  and  a  cockatoo.  No,  Mam'selle,  since  you 


4o6  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

came  to  us  I  Ve  learned  a  thing  or  two  as  well  as  the  children. 
I  Ve  learned  what  sort  of  a  place  my  home  is,  and  what  it 
might  have  been.  I  'm  not  middle-aged  yet,  and  I  'm  old 
and  gray  —  and  yet  —  and  yet  —  I  Ve  a  right  to  a  little 
happiness  in  this  world,  and  I  '11  get  it,  by  George,  I  will !" 
He  had  spoken  slowly  and  hesitatingly,  and  now  he  paused 
again.  He  had  lived  his  life  so  immersed  in  his  business 
that  he  did  not  know  how  to  talk,  and  he  removed  his  hat 
and  wiped  his  brow,  and  then  gathered  up  the  reins,  as  if 
nerving  himself  to  a  supreme  effort.  Joyful  felt  a  tremor 
of  anxiety  that  was  almost  fear  pass  through  her.  Why 
should  he  tell  all  this  to  her  ?  Ought  she  to  let  him  do  so  ? 
She  thought  not,  and  yet  she  could  not  rebuke  him.  He 
had  been  so  good  to  her  all  this  year,  so  considerate  and 
kind,  was  it  for  this  she  had  made  herself  live,  to  go  back 
and  do  what  she  could  to  make  that  home  —  no,  no  —  it 
was  not  he  who  needed  her  —  it  could  not  be  he. 

"I  think,  Mr.  Burt,"  she  said,  at  last,  "you  would  better 
take  me  back  to  the  hospital.  It's  very  lovely  out  of 
doors,  but — " 

"Tired?  I  thought  you  said  you  would  like  to  drive  on 
like  this  forever.  I  said  you  could,  and  I  meant  it.  See 
here,  Mam'selle,  I  'm  going  to  take  a  long  vacation  and 
go  somewhere.  Where  shall  it  be?  Wherever  you  say, 
we  '11  go.  There  is  n't  a  thing  on  earth  you  want  that  you 
sha'  n't  have.  I  Ve  thought  this  all  out  —  I  Ve  looked  into 
the  customs  of  that  crowd  she  had  around  her  there  at  New- 
port, and  if  she  wants  to  train  with  that  set  and  be  a  leader 
among  them,  by  George,  I  '11  follow.  You  and  I,  we  '11 
be  the  most  moral  couple  of  the  whole  lot.  There  are  the 
Bermudas,  we  might  have  a  little  establishment  there,  or 


AN  AMBITIOUS  WOMAN'S  HUSBAND     407 

in  the  West  Indies,  or  we  could  go  to  Japan,  you  and  I, 
and  you  —  why,  I  'd  keep  you  Like  the  Queen  of  Sheba  (she 
was  the  one  who  had  everything  on  earth,  wasn't  she?). 
You  may  think  I  'm  too  old  to  be  any  companion  for  a  girl 
like  you,  but  never  you  fear,  I  '11  turn  the  whole  world  up- 
side down,  but  I  '11  do  it.  I  '11  make  you  happy." 

During  this  speech,  Joyful  sat  as  one  stunned.  Twice  she 
essayed  to  speak,  but  could  find  no  voice.  Then  Mrs.  Bings 
was  right,  no  one  was  to  be  trusted  who  had  wealth.  Men 
thought  their  money  gave  them  a  right  to  do  anything  they 
pleased.  She  looked  pityingly  at  the  man  at  her  side,  and 
yet  as  she  looked  she  recoiled  from  him  in  fear  and  anguish. 

"I  think,  Mr.  Burt,  I  would  like  to  go  home,"  she  found 
voice  to  say,  at  last,  but  he  appeared  not  to  hear  the  low 
murmur,  and  went  doggedly  on,  looking  straight  ahead  of 
him,  and  speaking  through  closed  teeth. 

"I  guess  I  know  right  from  wrong  as  well  as  anybody, 
and  if  it  is  n't  right  for  me  to  take  a  little  girl  and  make  her 
happy  —  I  don't  see  that  the  ideas  I  got  at  church  when  I 
was  a  boy  play  much  of  a  part  in  high  society.  It 's  a  sort 
of  a  big  game  of  '  Follow  my  leader '  they  're  all  playing, 
and  whoever  gets  to  be  leader  takes  his  own  gait  and  follows 
his  own  whim,  and  as  far  as  I  can  see  the  fellow  who  spends 
the  most  money  wins.  That 's  the  game  she  's  playing  now. 
It's  the  game  she 's  been  trying  to  play  ever  since  I  've  known 
her,  and  I  Ve  been  fool  enough  to  back  her  and  sit  dumb 
while  she  swings  ahead  and  drops  me  out.  I  've  given  her 
the  reins  and  the  whip  hand  and  now  all  I  can  do  is  to  give 
her  enough  to  last  her  (if  she 's  clever,  and  I  know  she  is), 
and  let  her  drive  to  the  devil  if  she  has  a  mind  to,  and  I  '11 
cut  loose.  I  '11  take  you  and  we  '11  - 


4o8  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

"Mr.  Burt."  Joyful  leaned  forward  and  put  her  hand 
on  his.  He  turned  and  looked  at  her  suddenly,  as  if  awak- 
ened from  a  vision.  "Please  take  me  back  now,  I  —  I  am 
tired." 

"Yes,  Mam'selle,  yes.  I  tell  you  there  isn't  a  thing  on 
earth  you  might  ask  of  me  I  would  n't  do  for  you." 

"Then  I  have  a  thing  I  would  like  you  to  do  for  me,  Mr. 
Burt,  if  that  is  true.  I  will  tell  you  what  it  is  after  a  little. 
May  we  go  back  now?" 

He  turned  about  immediately  and  allowed  the  team  to 
pace  slowly,  while  they  sat  in  silence. 

At  last  he  spoke.  "  Can't  you  tell  me  now  what  you  'd 
like  me  to  do  for  you  ?" 

"I  will  try.  I  'm  afraid  I  shall  lose  my  power  to  trust, 
and  —  I  am  already  losing  it  —  and  I  want  you  to  help  me 
get  it  back.  If  I  can  trust  no  one,  I  would  wish  to  die. 
Do  you  understand  me?"  With  a  woman's  intuition  and 
a  child's  wisdom  she  was  searching  his  face  and  probing 
his  spirit.  He  did  not  reply,  and  perceiving  his  inability 
to  comprehend  the  workings  of  her  mind,  she  went  on 
hurriedly,  "Before  I  learned  what  really  is  in  the  world,  I 
did  not  know  what  a  blessed  thing  it  is  to  have  friends  whom 
I  might  dare  to  trust.  One  by  one  those1!  loved  and  trusted 
have  been  taken  from  me,  and  by  their  loss  I  know  what  a 
terrible  thing  it  is  to  be  able  to  have  faith  in  no  one."  She 
paused  a  moment,  but  still  he  did  not  speak,  and  she 
continued  slowly,  "For  a  young  woman  to  have  no  one  on 
earth  into  whose  eyes  she  can  look  and  say,  'This  man  is 
good;  I  may  believe  in  him,'  Mr.  Burt,  it  is  terrible,  and  life 
turns  from  a  joy  to  a  horror  and  a  fear."  Still  he  was 
silent.  "I  had  faith  in  you  yesterday  —  I  respected  you, 


AN  AMBITIOUS  WOMAN'S  HUSBAND     409 

and  now  —  now  —  I  ask  this  of  you.  Make  it  possible  for 
me  to  trust  you  and  respect  you  to-morrow."  He  cleared 
his  throat  as  if  he  would  speak,  but  again  said  nothing. 
"I  think  you  understand  me,  Mr.  Burt.  I  want  you  to 
drop  this  day,  this  hour,  out  of  your  life  as  if  it  had  never 
been,  and  I  will  drop  it  out  of  mine.  I  know  I  understand 
you;  your  life  has  been  drained  drop  by  drop  of  the  glad- 
ness it  might  have  had — " 

"That's  it  — that's  it,  by  George;  I'll  make—" 

"But,"  she  talked  steadily  on,  "I  suppose  there  never 
was  a  time  in  any  life  when  there  was  only  one  course,  one 
way  to  do ;  for  if  there  is  a  wrong  way  there  must  also  be 
a  right,  or  the  other  would  not  be  wrong.  Do  you  know 
one  of  your  little  girls  has  many  of  Harry's  traits?  You 
will  find  her  a  great  comfort,  if  you  only  try.  You  think 
you  are  acquainted  with  your  own  children,  but  really, 
I  think  you  are  not.  Take  Cora  May  into  your  heart  in 
Harry's  place.  You  don't  know  what  you  might  do 
with  them,  if  you  cared  for  them  a  little.  Then,  Mr.  Burt, 
I  can  always  look  up  to  you,  and  have  faith  in  you.  I  can 
feel  that  you  are  my  friend,  a  true  one.  That  is  what  I 
need  most." 

"You  can  that,"  he  said  hoarsely,  and  they  spoke  no 
more  until  they  reached  the  hospital.  Then  he  lifted  her 
gently  down  and  held  her  hand  a  moment  in  his,  but  as  he 
looked  at  her  his  eyes  seemed  not  to  see  her,  and  she  knew 
they  saw  with  inner  vision  his  little  son. 

"Love  those  who  are  left,"  she  said.  "It  seems  cruel 
for  a  father  not  to  love  his  own." 

As  she  turned  from  him  he  caught  her  by  the  sleeve  with 
shaking  hand,  and  this  time  he  looked  into  her  eyes,  not 


4io  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

past  her.  "See  here,  little  girl  —  Mam'selle,  I  suppose 
there  's  nothing  —  I  suppose  money  could  n't  make  you  say 
any  —  thing  different  ?  " 

"No,  Mr.  Burt,  I  can't  explain  —  if  you  could  look  into 
my  heart  you  would  understand.  There  is  something  we 
can't  see  nor  touch  that  lives  in  each  one  of  us,  it  is  not  the 
brain  we  think  with,  it 's  —  it 's  —  what  we  love  with,  and 
money  can't  buy  it  nor  measure  it,  and  with  our  hands  we 
can't  catch  it  nor  hold  it  any  more  than  we  can  this  sunlight ; 
and  yet  it  is  just  as  real  as  the  sunlight,  and  when  it  goes 
away  from  us,  the  money  and  the  hands  that  held  the  money 
mean  nothing  to  it.  You  can't  buy  and  sell  it  any  more 
than  you  could  buy  or  sell  your  love  for  Harry,  or  his  for 
you.  It  would  be  more  possible  for  me  to  jump  from  a  high 
precipice  into  a  black  sea,  than  do  for  money  what  you  ask." 

"I  believe  you,"  he  said,  and  turned  heavily  away. 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

MARIE  VAILE'S  RELEASE 

I  saw  one  stand 
Holding  '  the  keys  of  hell  and  death '  in  either  hand  : 

His  countenance 
Glowed  with  a  light  mysterious  and  soft,  his  glance 

Made  luminous  all  space. 
When  from  my  dungeon  deep  I  cried,  He  turned  His  face 

And  smiled  on  me, 
And  said,  '  Be  comforted.    These  be  the  keys  of  love  to  set  thee  free.' 

AFTER  a  weary,  feverish  night  Joyful  rose  and  tried  to 
feel  herself  strong  enough  to  go  out  a  little.  She  could  not 
linger  a  day  longer  than  she  must,  because  of  the  expense 
entailed,  and  the  necessity  of  being  occupied  pressed  upon 
her;  but  with  the  exertion  of  dressing  and  moving  about 
her  small  room  she  knew  herself  to  be  too  weak  to  walk  out, 
so  she  sat  by  her  window  and  gazed  down  into  the  street, 
watching  the  passing  vehicles.  Her  thoughts  recurred  to 
the  drive  of  the  day  before,  and  she  was  filled  with  sadness 
and  a  haunting  sense  of  shame.  All  night  she  had  tossed 
and  fretted  under  the  burden  of  this  shame,  as  the  words 
George  Burt  had  spoken  came  back  to  her.  She  had  sought 
to  excuse  them  as  the  words  of  a  disheartened,  sorrowful 
man,  trying  to  wrest  a  little  happiness  out  of  life  for  himself 
at  whatever  cost,  yet  her  supersensitive  conscience  punished 
her  with  the  thought  that  this  very  desire  to  excuse  him 
degraded  her  the  more.  She  tormented  herself  by  imagin- 

411 


JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

ing  some  wrong  in  her  own  nature  that  she  could  not  hate 
him  for  what  he  had  proposed  to  her,  instead  of  pitying  and 
longing  to  trust  him  still.  What  was  the  trouble?  Was 
her  purity  of  heart  becoming  undermined  by  all  she  had 
seen  and  learned  since  she  had  left  her  safe  little  haven? 
It  must  be  so.  There  was  Mr.  Thorn  whom  she  dared  not 
see  again;  why?  Because  her  heart  ached  with  longing  to 
see  him.  And  there  was  poor  Marie  Vaile  who  had  done  so 
wrongly,  and  whom  she  had  seen  stretched  in  drunken,  dis- 
graceful sleep,  and  yet  she  loved  her,  and  would  fly  to  her, 
if  only  she  knew  where  to  seek  for  her. 

Suddenly  her  thoughts  were  arrested  by  what  was  trans- 
piring in  the  street  below.  An  automobile  had  stopped 
before  the  hospital,  and  a  man  was  lifting  from  it  a  young 
woman  who  seemed  to  have  been  hurt,  and  another  lady, 
troubled  and  frightened,  was  trying  to  assist  him,  who  ran 
on  before  to  summon  help,  as  he  carried  his  apparently  un- 
conscious burden  in.  Joyful  grew  paler,  and  grasped  the 
window  ledge  for  support,  as  she  watched  them.  Then, 
as  she  still  stood  clinging,  quivering  and  white,  she  heard 
the  swish  of  silken  skirts  outside  her  door  and  a  woman's 
voice  speaking  rapidly  and  with  suppressed  excitement, 
and  she  knew  they  were  taking  the  wounded  young  woman 
into  the  vacant  room  opposite  her  own. 

For  an  instant  her  heart  beat  madly.  It  was  Marie. 
She  was  sure  it  was  Marie  Vaile  who  was  hurt.  Then  she 
forced  herself  into  calmness  and  walked  quietly  into  the 
hall.  The  door  of  the  room  stood  open,  and  the  gentleman 
who  had  carried  the  young  woman  in  stood  just  outside, 
leaning  against  the  wall.  He  looked  very  white  and  ill. 
A  nurse  was  passing,  and  seeing  his  face  drawn  as  if  in  pain, 


MARIE  VAILE'S  RELEASE  413 

paused  to  ask  if  he  was  hurt  also.  Joyful  heard  him  say, 
"No,  not  exactly."  A  moment  later  the  nurse  brought 
him  a  glass  of  wine,  and  he  walked  slowly  to  the  end  of  the 
hall  and  sat  down. 

Within  the  room  a  nurse  was  gently  removing  the  patient's 
jacket.  She  took  scissors  and  cut  away  the  sleeve  and 
opened  the  shoulder  seams.  The  beautifully  dressed 
lady  stood  near,  twisting  her  delicate  handkerchief  into 
shreds.  Now  and  then  she  touched  away  with  it  the  tears 
which  brimmed  her  eyes. 

"Oh,  will  she  live,  will  she  live?"  she  murmured  again 
and  again. 

"We  cannot  tell,  Mrs.  Stevens.  The  doctor  will  be  here 
immediately.  There,  she  is  coming  to  herself,"  said  the 
nurse,  as  the  patient  moaned.  All  this  time  Joyful  stood 
in  the  doorway,  fascinated  —  unheeded.  The  lady  brushed 
past  her  and  spoke  to  the  gentleman  without.  "She  may 
live,  Scott;  she  is  becoming  conscious  now.  We  can  learn 
who  she  is  and  take  word  to  her  friends  —  that  much  we 
can  do."  She  returned  quickly  and  stood  again  at  the 
bedside.  Slowly  the  sufferer  opened  her  eyes  and  gazed 
at  the  open  doorway  and  suddenly,  with  glad  recognition 
illuminating  her  face,  she  cried  out,  — 

"Joyful,  come  to  me,  come,"  and  in  an  instant  Joyful  was 
bending  over  her,  kissing  her  lips  and  holding  her  face  in 
both  her  hands. 

"Don't  excite  yourself,  Mam'selle  Antoinette,  and  don't 
excite  her,"  said  the  nurse.  "I  think  you  can't  do  anything 
now,  Mrs.  Stevens.  We  will  find  out  all  we  can  about  her, 
and  in  an  hour  or  so  you  might  send  round." 

Then  the  lady  swept  out,  and  Joyful  heard  her  speaking. 


4i4  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

"We  are  to  inquire  in  an  hour,  Scott,  and  learn  all  about 
her.  She  is  recovering  a  little.  She  spoke  to  that  young 
girl  who  stood  in  the  doorway ;  and,  Scott,  we  must  dismiss 
that  chauffeur  right  away.  Why,  Scott,  dear  !  The  shock 
has  made  you  very  ill.  Come  out  in  the  air.  There  is 
such  an  odor  of  anaesthetics  here,  no  wonder,"  and  her 
voice  died  away  down  the  corridor. 

Joyful  heard  as  in  a  dream.  Far  back  in  her  memory 
the  name  Scott  Stevens  seemed  to  come  to  her,  hovering  in 
a  mist  of  anguish  and  horror.  Where  had  she  heard  it  or 
seen  it  ?  Scott  Stevens  —  Scott  Stevens  —  and  through  it 
she  heard  Marie  faintly  imploring  to  be  allowed  to  speak 
to  her,  and  begging  the  nurse  not  to  send  her  away. 

"Mam'selle's  nerves  are  not  strong;  she  has  been  very 
ill,"  said  the  nurse;  "I  don't  know  if  she  can  stand  it." 

Marie's  eyes  sought  Joyful's  imploringly.  "Must  I  lose 
you  again?  Oh,  I'm  afraid,  I'm  afraid!"  she  moaned. 

"You  will  never  lose  me  again,  Marie,  never,  never.  I 
have  been  getting  well  on  purpose  to  find  you."  Marie 
smiled,  and  the  smile  faded  as  she  relapsed  into  uncon- 
sciousness. Then  the  doctor  came,  and  the  nurse  bade 
Joyful  go. 

For  hours  Marie  remained  for  the  most  part  under  the 
influence  of  opiates,  and  when  Joyful  was  allowed  to  see 
her  again,  she  lay  white,  and  only  her  eyes  seemed  to  be 
alive.  Her  poor  crushed  body  was  bound  about  so  that 
she  could  move  neither  hand  nor  foot. 

"Will  she  live?"  Joyful  had  asked  the  nurse,  and  the 
reply  was,  "It  is  to  be  hoped  not." 

During  her  moments  of  consciousness,  Joyful  was  allowed 
to  remain  with  her.  Louise  Stevens,  full  of  concern  and 


MARIE  VAILE'S  RELEASE  415 

pity,  came  every  day,  and  was  lavish  in  her  gifts  of  flowers 
and  in  her  expressions  of  sorrow,  and  her  indignation  at  the 
carelessness  of  their  chauffeur. 

"No  one  could  be  more  unhappy  over  this  than  my 
husband,"  she  said.  "He  has  been  really  ill  over  it,  and 
has  parted  with  his  machine,  and  says  he  never  will  ride  in 
one  again.  It  is  so  hard  on  him." 

Marie  gazed  steadily  in  her  eyes  as  she  spoke,  and  then 
said  faintly:  "Tell  him  —  tell  your  —  husband  to  enjoy 
his  machine  again,  for  it  has  done  me  a  kindness.  Tell 
him  this  is  Marie  Vaile's  message  to  him." 

After  Louise  was  gone,  Marie  begged  Joyful  to  come 
close  to  her  side,  and  Joyful  knelt  by  the  bed  and  laid  her 
cheek  against  Marie's. 

"I  wish  to  talk  to  you  for  a  few  moments,  and  you  must 
not  interrupt  me,  for  in  a  very  little  while  the  effects  of 
what  they  have  given  me  will  pass,  and  the  awful  craving 
will  drive  me  mad  again.  It  is  worse  than  the  pain  I 
suffer.  I  would  rather  be  crushed,  and  ground  to  powder 
than  to  be  denied  my  opiate.  Joyful,  do  you  really  in  your 
heart  —  do  you  honestly  believe  in  a  God  —  a  good  God  ? 
Don't  He  to  me." 

"Oh,  yes,  yes,  Marie." 

"You  wanted  to  pray  to  God  once  in  my  room." 

"Yes." 

"Did  you?" 

"Yes,  Marie." 

"What  came  of  it?"  Joyful  was  silent.  "What  did 
you  ask  for?" 

"I  only  asked  to  know  what  was  right  to  do." 

"What  happened?"  • 


4i6  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

"Some  one  came,  some  one  whom  I  knew,  and  took  me 
away."  Joyful  faltered. 

"Well,  you  were  taken  care  of,  it  seems.  Did  you  pray 
for  me?M 

"Oh,  yes,  Marie.    Always,  always!" 

"What  did  you  ask  for  me ?" 

"I  wanted  you,  Marie,  I  wanted  to  find  you." 

"Yes?  So  that  prayer  seems  to  have  been  answered, 
also.  You  have  me  again,  for  a  few  days,  and  then  —  who 
knows  where  I  shall  be  ?  I  don't  care,  so  long  as  I  can  be 
out  of  the  hell  I  have  been  in  for  the  last  year.  I  might  as 
well  be  in  one  hell  as  another.  Listen."  Slowly  she 
closed  her  lids,  and  slowly  opened  them  again,  and  Joyful 
lifted  her  head,  and  they  looked  in  each  other's  eyes.  "The 
chauffeur  was  not  to  blame  for  crushing  me.  I  did  it  my- 
self. Don't  tremble  with  the  horror  of  it.  Don't  mind. 
God  does  n't  care  what  we  do  so  much  as  you  think.  I  was 
getting  off  the  car,  and  all  at  once  I  saw  them  coming,  and  I 
did  n't  care,  I  stood  there  and  looked  at  him,  and  let  it  come 
on  me.  Why  should  I  care  ?  My  heart,  my  soul  had  been 
crushed  long  before.  I  dropped  where  I  was,  and  in  an 
instant  he  had  finished  his  work.  Never  mind,  dear,  never 
mind  —  you  don't  need  to  understand.  My  father  was  a 
minister.  He  believed  in  God  and  the  devil.  Don't 
interrupt  me,  dear  —  he  had  to  —  it  was  his  profession, 
but  —  whatever  he  believed,  he  loved  me,  and  wherever 
he  is,  I  shall  not  be  with  him  —  if  what  he  believed  is  true. 
I  —  I  have  sinned,  and  I  shall  be  in  some  horrible  place  set 
apart  for  such  as  I,  for  oh,  I  have  sinned  !  I  have  sinned  ! 
-  He  will  wait  for  me  —  if  it  is  true  —  and  watch  for  me, 
and  I  can  never  go  to  him.  That  is  what  is  breaking  my 


MARIE  VAILE'S  RELEASE  417 

heart.  Why  do  you  believe  in  a  God,  Joyful?  How  can 
you  when  He  permits  men  and  women  to  be  cruel  to  each 
other,  to  lie  and  to  hate,  and  to  crush  each  other's  hearts 
out?  I  would  weep,  only  I  wept  all  my  tears  long  ago. 
If  I  were  a  God,  I  would  weep  for  the  poor  creatures  I  had 
created  and  then  left  to  their  own  destruction.  Oh,  I 
have  loved  and  I  have  hated  —  How  I  have  hated  !  and  I 
can't  tell  you  which  has  brought  me  the  most  pain.  I 
hated  —  but  it  is  past,  and  it  would  do  no  good  to  say  whom, 
only  I  was  even  afraid  if  there  is  a  God  I  should  hate  Him, 
so,  now  that  I  am  to  go,  there  is  no  hope  for  me.  I  shall  be 
in  one  place  and  my  beautiful  old  father  in  another.  He 
believed  in  a  heaven  and  a  hell.  I  and  the  man  who  made 
me  sin  in  one  place,  and  my  father  hi  another ;  if  father 
was  right,  that  is  the  way  it  will  be." 

"You  must  not  talk  so.  I  know  some  words,  Marie, 
that  make  me  think  it  will  not  be  so.  Listen  —  '  I  am  He 
that  liveth  and  was  dead ;  and  behold  I  am  alive  for  ever- 
more and  have  the  keys  of  hell  and  of  death.'" 
"What  does  that  mean  to  you,  Joyful?" 
"I  think  it  means  that  while  we  can't  understand,  yet 
we  can  trust,  for  Christ  has  the  keys,  the  keys  that  will 
liberate.  I  never  think  that  any  one  is  to  be  forever  in  one 
place;  everything  moves  and  changes,  and  things  are 
transformed  —  they  die  and  come  to  life  again.  I  believe 
even  more  in  spirit  than  I  do  in  body,  Marie.  You  see  what 
I  mean ;  here  is  your  beautiful  body  lying  all  crushed  and 
torn,  and  you,  oh,  Marie  !  You  have  got  to  leave  it  here, 
and  when  you  have  left  it,  it  must  be  laid  away,  but  you,  you, 
dear,  that  which  shines  now  in  your  face,  the  cruel  wheels 
could  not  touch  it.  The  you  that  looks  into  my  eyes,  that 


4i8  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

is  real,  as  real  as  God.  You  see  God  must  be,  or  there  would 
be  no  you  to  live,  to  love  me,  to  go  out  of  what  lies  here  on  this 
bed  and  leave  it  to  its  fate.  Listen,  Marie.  Do  you  truly 
love  me  ?  Is  your  love  real  ?  Then,  Marie,  it  can't  be  this 
crushed,  hurt  thing  that  lies  here  that  loves  me ;  there  is  some- 
thing that  is  going  out  of  it  that  loves  me ;  it  is  the  you  that 
looks  out  of  your  eyes  into  mine.  Love  can't  exist  without  a 
source,  and  this  you  that  is  loving  me  so  will  go  and  find  God. 
Just  as  your  love  draws  my  heart  to  you,  so  His  love  will  draw 
yours  to  Him.  No  matter  what  you  have  done,  He  will 
know  the  love  in  you  and  you  will  find  God.  Oh,  I  know, 
Marie;  I  am  not  afraid  of  God,  I  never  have  been." 

For  a  few  moments  Joyful  knelt  sobbing  beside  her,  and 
then  Marie  said  gently:  "I  will  try  to  believe  you,  little 
pink  rose,  I  will  try.  The  pink  is  gone  from  your  cheeks 
now,  but  some  day  it  will  come  back.  Yes,  I  must  try.  At 
any  rate  I  shall  know  soon.  Dear,  the  craving  is  coming 
on  again,  and  I  must  finish  what  I  have  to  say.  Not  long 
ago  I  inherited  a  little  money  from  my  father.  I  have  made 
a  will  and  left  it  to  you.  It  is  n't  much,  but  it  will  keep  you 
safe,  with  what  you  earn,  and  if  the  time  ever  comes  when 
you  don't  need  it,  I  have  told  in  my  will  what  I  wish  done 
with  it.  It  is  to  be  used  for  sad  —  sad  girls  —  who  think 
there  is  no  hope.  There,  Joyful  —  there,  darling,  send  the 
nurse  to  me  —  send  the  nurse.  I  can't  stand  this  any 
longer.  They  won't  give  it  to  me  —  I  tell  you  they  must." 
Her  voice  rose  to  a  scream,  and  the  nurse  came  quickly. 
"You  would  better  leave  her  now,  Mademoiselle,"  she  said, 
bending  over  Marie  and  trying  to  soothe  her.  "Yes,  yes. 
Very  soon,  Miss  Vaile;  be  patient  a  little  longer."  She 
gave  her  some  soothing  drops. 


MARIE  VAILE'S  RELEASE  419 

"I  say  you  must  help  me.  This  won't  relieve  me  for 
more  than  a  moment."  She  tried  to  lift  her  head,  and  her 
poor  body  quivered  as  with  an  ague.  She  struggled  for 
mastery  of  herself,  and  the  nurse  knew  she  was  in  agony. 
Presently  she  became  quiet  and  called  again  for  Joyful. 

"I  did  n't  finish  telling  you,  dear  —  I  have  something 
very  important  to  tell  you,  but  I  can't  grasp  the  thought 
long  enough  to  get  it  said.  Let  me  see  —  I  made  the  will 
-  yes  —  and  then  I  —  thought  if  I  never  saw  you  again  — 
at  least  I  had  —  had  —  but  I  meant  to  do  this,  not  quite 
this,  I  meant  to  be  killed  outright  —  I  —  I  wanted  him 
to  —  finish  his  own  work — " 

Joyful  saw  she  was  becoming  excited  again,  and  laid  a 
cool  hand  on  her  brow,  and  gently  kissed  her.  "Don't 
try  to  talk  about  it  now,  Marie;  I  understand." 

"No,  you  don't.  There's  something  more  I  must  say. 
There  is  some  one  who  loves  you  —  who  —  I  wrote  a  letter 
and  I  put  the  will  with  it  in  a  large  envelope,  and  it  hap- 
pened just  before  I  did  this,  I  mailed  it,  but  I  could  not  mail 
it  to  you,  dear,  so  I  sent  it  to  —  I  sent  it  —  I  did  n't  know 
where  you  were,  so  —  dear  Joyful, "  her  voice  trailed  off  in 
a  whisper,  and  then  new  strength  seemed  to  come  to  her,  and 
she  cried  again  for  the  nurse,  and  wailed  and  wept,  and  all 
she  said  became  incoherent  and  disjointed,  and  Joyful  was 
sent  away. 

"You  can  do  nothing  now,  Mademoiselle.  As  soon  as 
the  doctor  comes  he  will  give  her  an  opiate .  That  is  what 
she  wants,  and  she  will  only  rave  until  she  gets  it,"  and 
Joyful  went,  weeping  silently. 

Soon  the  doctor  came,  and  then  the  raving  ceased,  and  in 
the  morning  Marie  Vaile  had  departed.  The  body  she  had 


420  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

willingly  cast  down  to  be  crushed  lay  there,  but  she  was  gone 
Then  Joyful  wept  for  her  no  more,  because  she  believed,  as 
she  had  said,  more  in  spirit  than  in  body.    She  could  not 
weep,  for  He  who  held  the  keys  of  death  had  unlocked  the 
portal  of  her  life  and  set  her  free. 

Louise  Stevens  came  in  as  usual,  and  the  flowers  she 
brought  were  laid  on  the  quiet  breast.  They  were  white 
lilies,  for  word  had  been  brought  her  that  Miss  Vaile  was 
dead.  Louise  had  asked  her  husband  to  buy  them  for  her, 
but  he  had  answered,  "No,  dear,  you  get  them,  anything 
that  seems  to  be  appropriate,"  and  Louise  had  chosen  white 
lilies,  and  now  she  wept,  as  she  stood  beside  the  dead. 

"She  must  have  been  very  lovely  once,"  she  said;  "and 
we  —  we  killed  her  —  Scott  and  I.  He  looks  ten  years 
older  since  it  happened.  He  says  he  will  never  get  over  it." 

"But  it  was  not  your  fault,"  said  Joyful,  trying  to  com- 
fort her. 

"No,  it  was  the  fault  of  the  chauffeur.  Mr.  Stevens  dis- 
missed him." 

"It  was  no  one's  fault  but  —  I  know  it  was  not  the 
chauffeur's  fault.  She  told  me  so."  Joyful  was  very  sorry 
for  Louise  in  her  grief,  and  yet  could  not  tell  her  all,  for 
Marie's  sake. 

"Well,  it  must  have  been  some  one's  fault,"  said  Louise, 
with  her  usual  coherence,  "and  so  we  had  to  dismiss  him. 
I  believe  I  have  seen  Miss  Vaile  before,  now  that  I  see  her 
face  like  this,  so  white.  Yes,  I  remember  where  it  was. 
She  was  in  Mr.  Thorn's  studio.  Mr.  Stevens  and  I  went 
there  to  select  a  picture,  and  it  was  there  I  saw  her." 

Joyful  became  suddenly  rigid,  and  her  face  grew  as  white 
as  the  face  of  the  dead ;  and  Louise,  unseeing,  talked  on. 


MARIE  VAILE'S  RELEASE  421 

"  I  remember,  it  was  last  spring,  just  before  we  were  married, 
and  Mr.  Stevens  was  taken  suddenly  ill,  and  we  left  im- 
mediately, so  I  only  had  a  glimpse  of  her  face,  but,  as  I  see 
it  now,  I  am  sure  it  was  she." 

Then  Louise  turned  and  saw  Joyful  sway  where  she  stood, 
and  caught  her  in  her  arms,  and  called  for  the  nurse.  "It 
made  her  faint  to  look  at  it,  and  yet  it  is  a  lovely  face," 
said  Louise  to  the  nurse,  after  Joyful  had  been  taken  to  her 
room. 

"They  seemed  to  be  very  fond  of  each  other,"  said  the 
nurse. 

"Oh,  is  that  it?" 

"And  Mademoiselle  has  been  very  ill." 

"Oh!  "said  Louise. 


CHAPTER  XXX 

MRS.   RENOLDS   SOLVES  THE   MYSTERY 

111  go  where  flowers  are  brightest  and  birds  sing 

The  year  long.    There  my  foolish  heart  I  '11,  steep 

In  Lethian  drafts  of  melody  and  spring. 

I  '11  rest  my  spirit  in  a  charmed  sleep, 

While  hours,  like  passage  birds  on  whirring  wing, 

Sweep  by  me,  till  I  too  may  rise  and  pass, 

And  leave  this  clay  to  feed  strong  roots  of  grass. 

WHEN  Mark  returned  to  his  studio  in  New  York,  he  found 
a  note  there  from  Marie  Vaile.  It  had  not  been  sent  by 
post,  but  had  been  thrust  under  his  door.  She  told  him  she 
thought  she  had  found  a  clew  at  last,  and  had  gone  to  follow 
it.  She  gave  him  an  address  in  Boston,  and  closed  with 
the  hope  that  he  had  had  a  successful  trip,  and  saying  that 
he  might  go  on  with  his  work  with  good  heart,  for  she  would 
surely  find  Miss  Heatherby,  and  if  at  any  time  she  required 
assistance  from  him  she  would  let  him  know.  The  note  was 
short  and  seemed  perfectly  sane  and  businesslike,  only  that 
it  bore  no  date.  He  turned  it  over  and  over,  wondering 
when  it  had  been  written,  and  how  long  it  had  awaited  him. 

"Yours  received,"  -  -  then  she  had  gotten  his  letter.  He 
made  rapid  calculation :  it  might  have  lain  there  two 
months;  but  the  janitor  assured  him  it  could  not  be  so 
long,  for  he  had  cleaned  the  apartments  only  three  weeks 
before,  and  not  a  scrap  of  paper  was  there  then ;  so  Mark 
did  as  the  note  suggested.  He  wrote  Marie  at  the  address 

422 


MRS.   RENOLDS   SOLVES  THE  MYSTERY    423 

given,  and  took  up  his  work  again  with  what  patience  he 
could.  He  journeyed  out  to  the  Western  town  and  personally 
superintended  the  placing  of  the  pictures  he  had  purchased 
for  them ;  moreover,  he  sold  some  of  his  own  best  work, 
and  returned  encouraged  and  almost  happy  —  happy  but  for 
the  one  consuming  desire  of  his  heart. 

He  went  to  see  Mrs.  Renolds,  and  found  her  just  returned 
from  her  summer  at  Newport.  His  visit  with  her  was  ani- 
mated. She  had  not  seen  him  so  exuberant  since  those 
old  days  in  Paris.  She  told  him  much  about  Scott  Stevens 
and  Louise,  and  Van  Burgh  and  his  wife. 

"Those  men  are  both  in  love  with  their  wives,"  she  said; 
"they  seem  the  exceptions  to  the  rule  nowadays.  You  can't 
wonder  at  Scott,  however."  Mrs.  Renolds  was  sailing 
dangerously  near  the  old  sand  bar.  She  watched  Mark 
closely  from  under  her  veiling  lashes,  to  change  her  tack 
the  moment  she  saw  the  shadow  of  a  cloud  cross  his  face. 
If  none  came,  she  was  safe  to  pursue  her  own  vantage.  "  You 
know,  I  used  to  wonder  at  you  sometimes,  but  I  don't 
so  much  now,  and  I  'm  not  surprised  at  his  infatuation 
or  love,  or  whatever  you  like  to  call  it ;  for  since  her  marriage 
Louise  has  given  up  her  whimsies.  She  has  really  become 
quite  a  finished  woman  of  the  world,  and  has  grown,  if 
possible,  more  beautiful  than  ever.  She  was  easily  the  most 
beautiful  woman  at  Newport  this  summer,  and  a  perfect 
hostess,  — just  what  Scott  would  require,  since  he  must  stand 
first  in  everything  to  be  content."  Mrs.  Renolds  paused, 
and  the  tea  was  brought  in.  "Sugar,  Mr.  Thorn?"  She 
held  the  lump  suspended  over  his  cup.  He  did  not  reply, 
except  with  a  laugh,  to  which  she  responded  merrily:  "Of 
course,  I  remember.  You  heap  a  little  mountain  of  sugar 


424  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

in  the  middle  of  your  cup,  and  pour  the  tea  over  it  and  make 
a  kind  of  a  luke-warm  sirup.  No  other  man  of  my  ac- 
quaintance is  so  stupid.  What  have  you  there  ?  " 

With  a  dancing  light  in  her  eyes  she  watched  him  inter- 
estedly. He  had  taken  a  little  box  from  his  pocket  and  was 
carefully  removing  the  tissue  paper  wrapping  from  some 
small  object. 

"I  found  this  in  Florence,  by  the  merest  accident.  I 
did  n't  suppose  a  piece  was  in  existence  that  had  not  been 
snapped  up  by  the  collectors."  He  placed  in  her  hand  a 
small  oval  of  ancient  enamel  set  in  quaint  gold,  exquisitely 
wrought. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Thorn.    What  a  priceless  treasure!" 

"I  know  it  to  be  genuine.  I  found  it  —  but  that 's  too 
long  a  story;  I  '11  tell  you  some  day  how  I  found  it  —  but  I 
can  vouch  for  it.  I  hovered  about  the  place  for  days  before 
I  dared  show  any  interest  in  it." 

Mrs.  Renolds'  cheeks  grew  pink  with  enthusiasm.  "  How 
delightful!"  she  exclaimed,  looking  at  him  rather  than  at 
the  treasure  in  her  hand. 

"Yes.  The  moment  I  saw  it  I  thought  of  you,  and  de- 
termined to  secure  it.  You  are  the  only  one  of  my  ac- 
quaintance who  would  know  really  how  to  appreciate  it. 
Luckily  I  succeeded,  and  you  have  it." 

"But,  Mr.  Thorn  —  you  did  n't  —  you  don't  mean  —  " 

"If  you  will  be  so  good  as  to  accept  it." 

"  But,  Mr.  Thorn,  I  can't.  It 's  a  thing  of  too  great  value 
as  an  art  treasure  to  take  from  you." 

"Its  value  I  have  received  from  you  long  ago,  Mrs.  Renolds, 
with  innumerable  lumps  of  sugar."  He  dropped  another 
piece  in  his  cup,  and  laughed.  "Sometimes  these  lumps, 


MRS.   REMOLDS  SOLVES  THE  MYSTERY    425 

when  properly  administered,  go  to  sweeten  life  as  well  as 
tea,"  he  added. 

In  silence  she  took  the  bit  to  the  light,  and  stood  examin- 
ing it  carefully.  "And  when  you  saw  it  you  thought  of  me," 
she  said  at  last  in  a  low  tone.  "  That  is  worth  more  than 
the  enamel,  Mr.  Thorn."  From  where  he  sat  in  a  dusky 
corner  Mark  looked  up  at  her  suddenly  as  if  he  had  received 
a  thrust.  What  had  he  done?  Had  he  been  blunder- 
ing all  this  time?  As  she  stood  between  him  and  the 
white  light  of  the  window  —  a  dark,  finely-cut  silhou- 
ette —  he  could  divine  nothing  from  her  face,  and  she 
continued:  "To  have  you  think  that  I  can  really  appre- 
ciate a  thing  like  this !  It  elevates  one  out  of  the 
common,  and  inflates  one's  pride.  I  do  know  its  intrinsic 
value,  but  I  really  accept  the  gift  for  the  thought,  Mr. 
Thorn." 

"You  set  too  high  a  value  on  my  judgment,"  he  said 
gravely. 

"Oh,  well,  we  women  love  to  be  praised,  and  when  a  man 
compliments  us  on  something  in  his  own  line,  where  he  is 
supposed  to  know  most,  himself,  you  see  the  praise  really 
counts."  She  sighed.  "  There  is  so  much  that  doesn't  count, 
no  wonder  I  say  what  I  value  most  is  the  thought.  You 
are  not  going,  surely." 

"I  must.  I'm  rather  hurried.  I  go  to  Boston  to-morrow." 
He  stood  a  moment  smiling  down  on  her  from  his  height. 
"You  say  you  women  love  praise,  but  I  can  go  you  one 
better.  We  men  love  flattery,  when  it  is  so  delicately  ad- 
ministered that  we  do  not  recognize  it  as  such." 

This  time  it  was  he  who  silhouetted  against  the  light.  She 
could  not  read  his  face,  and  was  left  pondering  his  intent. 


426  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

"Ah,  we  never  flatter,  Mr.  Thorn,"  she  called  after  him  as 
he  passed  out. 

Mark  went  back  to  his  studio  and  sat  long  before  the 
picture  of  Hester  Prynne,  and  as  he  gazed  he  thought  of 
Marie  Vaile  as  she  had  stood  that  day  when  Scott  Stevens 
and  Louise  visited  him  there.  Poor  Marie,  he  must  hunt 
her  up  and  learn  what  she  had  been  doing.  But  Marie, 
even  as  he  thought  of  her,  was  being  borne  away  from 
the  hospital  with  Louise  Stevens'  lilies  lying  on  her  breast, 
followed  by  one  wide-eyed,  grave  little  mourner,  who  yet 
did  not  mourn,  but  looked  out  at  the  world  from  her  carriage 
window  the  more  sadly  that  she  need  not  mourn.  Poor, 
blind  humanity !  Could  Mark  have  looked  at  that  mo- 
ment into  the  little  mourner's  eyes,  what  joy  would  have 
been  his. 

Mark  was  in  one  of  his  most  depressed  moods.  He 
seemed  to  be  thinking  in  pictures  that  evening,  many  and 
varied,  with  always  the  central  figure  of  the  little  maid  in 
the  evening  light  with  her  arms  full  of  crab-apple  blossoms. 
Now  and  then  another  figure  interposed,  the  presence  of  Mrs. 
Renolds  in  her  luxurious  home,  moving  with  gracious  gentle- 
ness among  the  beautiful  objects  that  surrounded  her, 
and  now  he  knew  that  if  the  little  maid  never  was  found, 
this  woman  of  charm  stood  ready  to  offer  consolation.  He 
had  never  before  grasped  this  thought,  and  he  stood  amazed 
at  his  own  obtuseness.  Pictorially  she  had  always  satis- 
fied him.  Her  delicious  femininity  and  subtle  strength  had 
often  comforted  him,  and  her  worldly  wisdom  he  had 
always  considered  a  sufficient  shield  and  barrier.  Alas ! 
he  had  never  dreamed  of  finding  it  vulnerable. 

Submerged  in  this  psychological  quandary,  he  began  a 


MRS.  RENOLDS   SOLVES  THE  MYSTERY    427 

serious  self-analysis  which  lasted  far  into  the  night,  and  in 
the  course  of  which  his  spirit  took  a  tremendous  stride  in 
wisdom.  Other  women,  silent  shadows,  crept  into  his 
pictures  and  out  again,  and  he  saw  the  part  women  had 
played  in  the  forming  of  his  life.  There  was  his  mother, 
wide-browed,  looking  into  his  heart  with  gray  eyes  full  of 
sympathy  and  love,  and  he  felt  as  he  used  to  feel  when  a  boy, 
that  he  must  be  true  with  himself  to  stand  unabashed  before 
them.  Then  there  was  the  reign  of  beauty,  worshipful 
beauty  bending  down  to  him,  coming  near  —  always  elusive 
—never  yielding  quite  his  heart's  desire,  filling  his  artist's 
sense,  yet  leaving  him  hungering  for — he  knew  not  what. 
Then,  out  in  the  world  among  a  thousand  unrealities,  his 
little  definite  aunt  who  always  knew  when  his  heart  was 
sore,  with  her  healing  touch  that  never  probed  too  deep  — 
all  these  who  had  ministered  to  some  need  in  him,  what  had 
he  ever  done  or  given  to  merit  such  precious  guerdon  of  love 
as  they  had  brought  into  his  life  ?  All  but  one  on  whom 
he  had  lavished  much,  as  it  seemed,  for  naught  but  the  lesson 
learned,  that  beauty  alone  may  seem  to  be  enough  in  life  for 
a  time,  but  can  never  last  into  eternity,  nor  travel  with  the 
soul  and  sustain  it  up  to  the  moutain  heights  of  joy.  No ; 
up  to  those  heights  only  two  loves  seemed  to  have  wings 
buoyant  enough  to  fly  weighted  with  the  soul  of  a  man : 
the  mother-love  that  lifts  him  out  of  the  mists  of  the  valley, 
away  from  the  greedy,  reaching  arms  of  the  world,  and 
that  other  love,  the  love  beyond  measure,  of  a  woman,  which 
lives  with  him  still  on  to  the  very  sunlit  tops  where  the 
mountains  touch  the  heavens.  Now,  as  the  pictures  passed 
before  him  and  he  sat  gazing,  he  knew,  knew  as  well  as  if  he 
held  her  hand  and  looked  into  her  eyes,  what  woman's 


428  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

sotd  could  mount  those  heights  with  his,  and  her  he  had 
lost. 

When  the  gray  light  of  morning  stole  into  his  studio  he 
rose,  chilled  and  stiff,  and  turned  the  picture  of  Hester 
Prynne  to  the  wall.  He  must  go  and  find  his  love.  He 
strode  out.  It  was  too  early  for  any  eating  house  to  be 
open,  and  he  went  to  his  lodging.  A  deadly  cold  seemed 
to  have  penetrated  to  his  very  bones,  and  for  a  week  he  lay 
too  ill  to  leave  his  room,  haunted  by  the  pictures  of  his  long 
night's  vigil  in  his  studio. 

When  he  was  able  to  be  about  again,  he  found  matters 
awaiting  his  attention ;  a  dinner  invitation  from  Mrs. 
Renolds,  and  several  calls  to  social  functions,  none  of  which 
he  could  accept,  chiefly  because  of  a  certain  long  envelope 
addressed  in  his  care  to  Joyful  Antoinette  Heatherby,  ac- 
companied by  a  note  from  Marie  sending  him  a  document 
she  wished  him  to  place  in  Miss  Heatherby's  hands  in  case 
anything  should  happen  to  her  before  her  search  was  finished. 
"I  know  you  will  be  sure  to  find  her  sometime,  even  if  I 
do  not,"  thenoteran.  "I  send  youacopyof  my  will  in  which 
I  am  leaving  what  I  have  to  her.  It  is  not  much,  but  it  will 
keep  her  safe,  and  I  believe  you  are  a  man  whom  I  can  trust." 

The  letter  stirred  in  him  a  sense  of  foreboding.  She  had 
not  been  successful,  then,  and  was  despondent.  He  knew 
her  well  enough  to  fear  for  her  when  in  those  moods.  He 
started  without  more  delay,  and  reproached  himself  for  his 
illness.  There  was  no  knowing  what  momentous  thing 
might  have  happened  during  those  days  of  inaction.  He 
went  first  to  the  address  Marie  had  given  him,  and  learned 
there  of  her  terrible  fate.  He  had  her  belongings  gathered 
together  and  properly  stored,  and  placed  the  receipt  for 


MRS.   RENOLDS  SOLVES  THE  MYSTERY    429 

them  with  the  document  Marie  had  sent  him;  then  he 
began  following  up  the  clew  given  him  in  Nathanael's  letter. 

Calling  at  Mr.  Burt's  place  of  business,  and  learning  that 
the  family  were  abroad,  he  looked  up  the  steamship's 
passenger  list  as  before,  but  no  governess  was  of  the  party. 
He  learned  from  the  caretaker  at  the  home  that  the  "  Mam'- 
selle"  had  been  ill,  and  he  went  the  rounds  of  the  hospitals, 
in  the  vague  hope  that  she  might  be  the  inmate  of  one  of 
them,  and  here  he  was  in  a  measure  rewarded ;  but  even  so 
he  could  not  learn  where  she  had  gone,  nor  with  whom. 
The  only  nurse  who  knew  was  taking  a  vacation  somewhere 
in  Delaware.  Disheartened  and  heavy-hearted  he  sought 
to  find  comfort  and  rest  in  his  aunt's  home,  but  the  house- 
keeper informed  him  that  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Stevens  had  taken 
Mrs.  Parsons  with  them  on  a  yachting  trip  down  the  coast. 

"I  will  never  give  up  the  search,"  he  said  in  his  heart,  "as 
long  as  she  is  in  the  world.  I  will  find  her."  As  he  mused 
on  the  problem  one  day,  he  bethought  him  that  the  will 
Marie  had  placed  in  his  hands  gave  him  a  legal  right  to  find 
Joyful  without  the  danger  of  subjecting  her  to  the  annoyance 
he  had  so  carefully  avoided.  He  immediately  placed  the 
papers  in  the  charge  of  his  lawyer,  telling  him  to  leave  no 
stone  unturned  until  the  document  was  delivered,  and  to 
keep  him  notified.  Then  he  took  up  his  work  again  with 
renewed  energy.  At  last  the  hand  of  the  law  was  stretched 
out  to  draw  her  to  him,  and  he  could  with  patience  await 
the  result.  In  the  interim  he  would  try  to  achieve  some- 
thing for  her  sake  like  a  true  knight. 

During  this  time  Mervain  Thompson  was  growing  impa- 
tient for  his  picture.  He  wrote  scolding  letters,  and  at 
last  visited  Mark  in  his  studio,  but  when  he  saw  the  nearly 


43o  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

finished  work,  he  ceased  his  tirade  and  took  the  young 
artist's  hand. 

"I  won't  say  another  word,"  he  said.  "Take  your  own 
time,  but  whatever  you  do,  don't  touch  the  figure  of  Hester 
Prynne.  I  say  don't  touch  that  face,  I  '11  take  the  painting 
as  it  is,  rather." 

Mark  laughed.  "It's  the  old  complaint.  You  won't 
trust  me  even  when  you  praise  me." 

"  But  I  tell  you  that  face  is  inspired.  You  may  not  know 
it,  but  it  is,"  cried  the  enthusiast. 

"No,  I  'm  not  sure  that  it  was  inspired,  but  I  have  no 
wish  to  touch  it  again.  I  must  finish  more  carefully  some 
of  the  others,  however.  I  'm  not  satisfied  with  Arthur 
Dimmesdale.  I  '11  get  it,  though ;  and  old  Roger  Chilling- 
worth  is  only  outlined,  as  yet." 

"  Well,  leave  it  so.  You  don't  need  to  do  much  more  with 
him." 

The  painting  was  oblong,  to  fill  the  space  Mr.  Thompson 
had  allotted  him.  On  one  side,  raised  a  little  above  the 
heads  of  the  crowd,  stood  Hester  Prynne  with  the  child,  its 
hand  thrust  in  the  neck  of  her  dress,  and  the  scarlet  letter 
revealed  under  the  bare  baby  arm.  Below  her  were  the 
three  old  gossips  wagging  heads  together,  and  the  sweet- 
faced  young  matron,  her  own  child  sleeping  in  her  arms, 
gazing  up  at  Hester  with  sad,  prophetic  sympathy.  In  the 
background  were  soberly  clad  maidens  shading  their  eyes 
with  their  hands,  and  staid,  virtuous  mothers  and  fathers 
with  their  children  looking  in  their  faces  wonderingly,  all 
gazing  at  Hester,  some  pointing,  some  leaning  eagerly  with 
chin  thrust  forward.  Opposite  her  and  slightly  higher  was 
the  balcony  where  sat  the  governor  and  reverend  old  judges 


MRS.  RENOLDS   SOLVES  THE  MYSTERY    431 

in  stern  array,  while  leaning  far  over  the  balcony  railing 
was  Arthur  Dimmesdale,  pale  and  emaciated,  with  noble  brow 
and  exquisitely  cut  features,  and  tremulous  mouth;  his 
eyes  fixed  on  hers  so  earnestly,  so  fearfully,  and  yet  so 
pleadingly  that  the  look  passing  between  Hester  and  him- 
self seemed  almost  to  obliterate  the  rest  of  the  picture. 
To  the  right,  beneath  the  balcony,  stood  old  Roger  Chilling- 
worth,  intent,  keen,  and  the  only  face  in  the  whole  waiting 
crowd  that  was  turned,  not  toward  Hester  Prynne,  but 
toward  the  young  minister. 

As  Mark  stood  before  it,  his  face  grew  clouded.  He  was 
thinking  of  Marie  and  her  fate,  and  through  all  his  being 
he  hungered  for  Joyful.  Mervain  Thompson  looked  up  in 
the  young  artist's  face  quizzically. 

"Come  down  out  of  the  clouds,"  he  said.  "What's  the 
matter  with  it  ?  Great  Scott !  I  believe  you  're  not  satis- 
fied with  it,  and  I  'm  going  to  send  for  it  to-day.  I  '11  rescue 
that  painting." 

"That's  a  little  fiction  of  yours,  Thompson.  I'm  a 
sane  man.  It 's  only  geniuses,  great  geniuses,  who  are  so 
erratic." 

"I  shall  send  for  that  picture  to-day,"  said  the  little  man, 
stamping  energetically  about  the  studio.  "If  you  wish 
to  do  anything  more  to  it,  you  '11  have  to  come  to  the  house 
and  do  it  after  it  is  up." 

"Very  well,"  said  Mark,  indulgently.  "Take  it  when 
you  please.  Will  you  allow  me  to  enter  it  for  exhibit  here 
in  New  York  this  winter?" 

"Gladly,"  said  Thompson,  relenting.  He  did  not  send 
for  it  that  day,  and  Mark  was  allowed  to  finish  it  at  his 
leisure.  Later  it  was  placed  on  exhibit,  and  he  had  the 


432  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

pleasure  of  refusing  twice  the  sum  he  had  asked  for  it,  saying 
it  was  already  sold.  When  Mr.  Thompson  learned  of  this, 
he  used  language  stronger  than  his  wont,  and  went  to  Mark, 
expressing  his  regret. 

"If  I  had  that  man's  millions,  I  'd  make  it  up  to  you,"  he 
said.  But  Mark  laughed.  "No,  you  have  only  the  brains 
in  that  big  head  of  yours,  he  has  the  money ;  but  all  his 
money  could  not  equal  what  you  gave  me  long  ago  when 
you  thought  you  saw  some  merit  in  my  work.  When  you 
gave  me  the  mural  painting  to  do  in  your  music  room,  men 
and  women  were  passing  my  pictures  by  without  a  second 
glance.  I  had  returned  from  Paris,  that  Mecca  of  artists, 
full  of  hope  and  enthusiasm,  only  to  learn  that  to  hail  from 
any  point  this  side  of  the  Atlantic  was  death  to  an  artist's 
career  —  that  he  must  exile  himself  from  his  own  land  in 
order  that  the  parvenus  over  here  might  import  their  art 
treasures  from  Europe  —  that  art  fundamentally  meant 
nothing  to  them.  The  man  who  offered  me  double  your 
price  for  this  picture  knows  nothing  about  art;  he  would 
place  it  among  a  lot  of  senseless  bargains  —  by  Jove  !  and 
then  boast  of  the  price  he  gave  —  but  there  !  The  less  said, 
the  better.  Some  day  he  will  come  to  me,  and  I  '11  sell 
him  a  picture  and  be  glad  to  pocket  the  money,  no  doubt. 
We  artists  may  storm,  but  after  all  we  must  live  by 
such." 

He  laughed,  but  not  so  bitterly  as  he  used  to  smile  when 
he  thought  of  his  reception  in  the  past.  No ;  Fortune  seemed 
to  be  turning  her  wheel  in  his  favor,  and  he  was  stimulated 
to  greater  effort,  and  began  one  or  two  more  serious  pieces. 
Now  and  then  he  would  work  on  the  paintings  of  Undine. 
These  he  loved  to  linger  over,  and  always  when  he  was  most 


MRS.   RENOLDS  SOLVES  THE  MYSTERY    433 

hopeful  he  would  place  the  head  he  had  shown  Marie  where 
his  eyes  could  rest  on  it  whenever  he  looked  up. 

As  he  sat  thus  absorbed  in  his  private  corner  one  after- 
noon Mrs.  Renolds  entered  with  a  party  of  friends,  and, 
according  to  their  wont,  seeing  the  artist  at  work,  they 
prowled  in  the  rest  of  the  apartment  as  they  pleased,  turn- 
ing pictures  about  and  setting  them  in  different  lights  at  their 
will,  and  chatting,  criticizing,  and  laughing.  Mrs.  Renolds 
often  accompanied  a  chosen  few  thus,  and  now  she  pro- 
ceeded, as  had  been  her  custom  of  late,  to  make  tea  and  set 
out  his  stale  biscuits,  which  she  found  in  a  littered  little  cup- 
board over  the  tea  table. 

"Mr.  Thorn,"  she  called  at  last,  "your  Sevres  is  a  dream, 
but  I  must  say  your  cupboard  is  a  nightmare,  and  where  is 
the  alcohol  ?  "  She  brought  him  the  little  silver  can.  "Come, 
put  away  your  work  and  find  it  for  me.  This  is  empty." 
As  she  approached  him.  she  saw  the  pastel  of  Joyful  placed 
where  it  was  not  to  be  seen  from  the  larger  room,  and  at  the 
same  moment  she  caught  the  glance  he  bestowed  on  it  as  he 
turned  toward  her. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Thorn,  why  have  you  never  exhibited  this? 
It  is  the  most  charming  thing  you  ever  did.  Is  it  an  ideal  ?  " 
She  spoke  in  lowered  tone,  and  her  exclamation  was  un- 
heeded by  the  friends  who  had  treated  themselves  to  a 
portfolio  of  sketches.  "No,"  said  Mark,  placing  it  in  a 
better  light,  "it  is  a  portrait." 

"When  did  you  do  it  ?  Where  did  you  find  such  a  witch- 
ing child,  or  is  it  a  young  woman?" 

"Both,"  he  replied,  with  a  smile.  "I  did  it  last  summer 
in  the  wilds."  He  turned  it  hastily  to  the  wall,  and  went 
to  fill  the  silver  can. 


434  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

"Where  is  she  now?"  she  asked. 

"I  would  be  glad  to  know,  but  I  haven't  the  slightest 
idea,"  he  said  most  truthfully. 

"  It 's  so  elusive.  Let  me  see  it  again  sometime,  will  you  ?  " 
She  studied  his  face,  and  particularly  his  mouth,  as  she  spoke. 

"  I  will,  indeed,  some  day,"  he  replied,  and  addressed  himself 
to  the  others,  while  searching  for  the  alcohol.  "This  is  what 
comes  of  allowing  your  room  to  be  set  to  rights.  Sometimes 
it  is  a  gem  of  art  that  is  missing,  sometimes  it  is  the  fuel." 

"Is  that  what  makes  the  biscuits  stale,  also?"  queried 
Mrs.  Renolds,  testing  one  between  her  perfect  teeth. 

"Stale?  Who  dares  call  my  cakes  stale?  I  got  them 
only  a  week  ago.  If  you  wanted  them  fresh,  why  did  n't 
you  come  then?"  He  turned  to  her  quietly.  "These  are 
abominable,"  he  said;  "while  you  make  the  tea  I  '11  run  out 
and  get  some  fresh  ones,  and  it  you  search  in  that  cupboard 
a  little  further,  you  '11  find  some  really  good  jam  —  to  be 
recommended." 

Then  it  was  that  Mrs.  Renolds  deliberately  yielded  to 
a  temptation.  Her  woman's  intuition  told  her  she  had 
stumbled  into  one  of  the  secret  chambers  of  a  man's  heart, 
and  since  the  door  seemed,  perhaps  only  accidentally,  to  be 
closed  against  her,  she  wanted  to  know  more.  She  was  to 
be  pardoned,  for  she  cared  much  and  she  did  not  know 
whether  to  still  keep  the  door  to  her  own  secret  chamber 
closed,  the  door  she  had  set  ajar  for  him.  Quickly  she 
glanced  at  her  friends.  They  were  still  examining  the 
sketches  and  exclaiming  over  them.  Then  she  went  boldly 
to  the  work  corner,  and  turned  the  canvas  about.  She 
knelt  before  it  and  eagerly  scanned  the  face,  only  for  a 
moment,  as  she  might  the  face  of  a  rival,  then  she  rose  and 


MRS.   RENOLDS  SOLVES  THE  MYSTERY    435 

walked  slowly  backward,  gazing  at  it.  "Ah, "she  said,  at 
last,  "this  is  what  it  means."  Then  she  turned  the  face 
again  to  the  wall  and  strolled  back  to  the  tea  table. 

When  Mark  returned,  the  small  kettle  was  singing  gayly, 
the  friends  were  having  a  lively  altercation  over  the  merits 
of  a  certain  picture,  and  Mrs.  Renolds  was  thoughtfully 
measuring  the  tea. 

"I  want  this  to  be  exactly  right,"  she  said,  smiling  up  at 
Mark,  as  he  gave  her  the  biscuits,  "because  I  sha'  n't  have 
the  pleasure  of  making  tea  here  again  for  —  nor  you  the 
pleasure  of  drinking  it  of  my  making,  incidentally  —  for  — 
oh,  for  months." 

"Oh,  Mrs.  Renolds  !  What  do  you  mean?"  burst  from 
a  chorus  of  voices. 

"I  'm  going  to  spend  the  winter  in  Florence." 

"And  you  've  just  remodeled  your  lovely  home  !  And  all 
the  jolliest  things  coming  on !  How  can  you?"  came  the 
chorus  again. 

"Easily  enough.     I'm  sick  of  the  great  lonely  place - 
and  in  Florence  I  shall  have  friends  —  also  —  and  sunshine, 
and  flowers  —  plenty  of  them." 

Mark  said  nothing.  He  sauntered  back  and  stood  a 
moment  studying  the  picture  on  his  easel  on  which  he  had 
been  working  when  they  entered.  Incidentally  he  noticed 
that  the  portrait  of  Joyful  was  set  at  a  different  angle  to  the 
wall  than  he  had  left  it,  and  being  fussy  about  how  his 
canvases  should  stand,  he  replaced  it  and  returned  to  take 
the  cup  from  Mrs.  Renolds'  hand. 

"I  don't  wonder  you  prefer  Florence  to  New  York,"  he 
said,  smiling  as  their  eyes  met. 

"I  most  certainly  do,"  she  replied. 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

SURRENDER 

"  For  love  is  lord  of  truth  and  loyalty, 
Lifting  himself  out  of  the  lowly  dust, 
On  golden  plumes,  up  to  the  highest  sky." 

"HOPE  deferred  maketh  the  heart  sick,"  said  Mark  to 
himself.  Searching  in  the  box  he  carried  on  his  sketching 
tours,  for  a  tube  of  color,  he  had  come  upon  a  little  withered 
violet  that  he  had  dropped  in  among  his  brushes  on  a  certain 
summer's  day,  when  he  had  been  living  an  idyll  and  think- 
ing that,  in  a  manner,  he  was  being  —  or  trying  to  be  —  the 
arbiter  of  a  young  girl's  fate. 

He  took  up  the  frail  atom,  and  smiled  sadly  as  he  laid  it 
carefully  on  a  bit  of  white  paper  where  its  summer's  tints 
showed  faintly  through  the  withered  brown,  even  as  Joyful's 
words  repeated  themselves,  and  her  thought  glowed  within 
him  after  these  many  months.  "  Everything  has  beauty  - 
this  has  —  but  a  soul  must  be  more  than  just  beauty,  or 
Undine  would  have  been  enough  without  it."  He  touched 
the  little  flower  with  his  finger,  and  moved  it  about  on  the 
paper.  "Yes,  wise  little  maid,"  he  said,  "a  soul  is  more 
than  beauty,  for  this  is  what  beauty  alone  comes  to,  and 
a  soul  —  her  soul  —  is  beauty  —  deathless  —  elusive  —  not 
to  be  grasped  nor  chained  —  a  beauty  to  be  felt  and  hun- 
gered for;  it  is  hers  and  her  God's  to  be  bestowed,  not  claimed 
nor  seized." 

436 


SURRENDER  437 

He  unlocked  a  hidden  drawer  in  an  antique  cabinet  and 
took  from  it  a  tiny  gold  box,  supposed  to  be  from  the  hand 
of  Benvenuto  Cellini.  The  center  of  the  cover  of  this  box 
was  St.  Michael  slaying  the  dragon,  and  the  rest  of  the 
framework  was  fashioned  of  the  writhing  body  and  wings 
and  tail  of  the  beast  under  his  feet.  Mark  opened  this 
treasure  of  his  small  collection  and  wiped  the  interior  care- 
fully with  his  handkerchief,  and  placed  within  it  the  withered 
flower.  He  smiled  as  he  turned  the  box  about  in  his  hand, 
and  studied  for  the  hundredth  time  its  quaint  design.  Ah, 
dear  little  Joyful,  with  her  world  of  poetic  fancy,  her  knights 
valiantly  fighting  monsters  for  their  noble  ladies'  sakes,  this 
box  with  its  St.  Michael,  his  drawn  sword  in  his  hand  and 
his  heel  on  the  dragon's  head,  was  a  fitting  shrine  for  her 
symbol.  He  replaced  the  box,  turned  the  key,  and  then 
went  back  to  his  easel. 

Golden  Success,  with  outstretched  hands,  was  hastening 
Mark  Thorn's  way  during  these  days,  almost  unheeded 
by  him  because  of  ideals  yet  above  him,  and  while  these 
heights  were  still  to  climb,  he  looked  with  modesty  at  the 
distance  already  covered,  which  seemed  but  short,  compared 
with  the  long  vista  before  him.  His  work  was  attracting 
attention.  Critics,  scenting  popular  applause  ahead,  made 
haste  to  prove  themselves  prophetic,  but  although  being 
borne  rapidly  on  the  high  tide  of  public  favor,  Mark  did  not 
realize  it.  He  was  absorbed  in  striving  to  reach  the  soul  of  art, 
and  fill  the  artist's  true  vocation ;  to  play  upon  the  sweetest 
chords  of  human  life;  to  stir  deadened  sympathies  and 
awaken  aspiration ;  to  make  truer  lovers  of  men  and  holier 
beings  of  women.  To  this  ambition  had  his  long  months 
of  waiting  and  pondering,  and  study  of  men's  and  women's 


438  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

lives  and  ambitions,  brought  him ;  to  this  had  the  thought 
given  him  by  the  wise  little  maiden  whose  image  he  kept  in 
his  heart  held  him.  True,  she  had  been  taught  to  fear  him 
and  to  fly  from  him,  but  he  still  felt  the  touch  of  her  clinging 
arms  about  his  neck,  and  her  tears  on  his  cheek. 

In  this  absorption  the  long  winter  finally  passed,  scarcely 
intruded  upon  by  the  calls  of  social  life,  since  Mrs.  Renolds' 
departure.  The  only  clew  he  had  to  the  whereabouts  of 
Joyful  was  contained  in  a  note  his  lawyer  had  received  from 
her  hand,  postmarked  Havana,  requesting  him  to  keep  the 
papers  intrusted  to  his  care  until  her  return  to  Boston  in  the 
spring,  when  she  would  confer  with  him.  Not  a  word  of 
herself,  but  even  this  was  better  than  nothing.  It  would 
help  him  maintain  his  soul  in  patience  a  few  months  longer, 
for  had  not  spring  returned  each  year  for  many  hundreds 
of  years,  therefore  was  not  the  coming  of  the  spring  inevi- 
table, and  with  it  the  return  of  love? 

March  came  and  passed,  so  cold  and  blustering  that  it 
brought  no  winter  wanderers  home.  Mark's  aunt  Kate 
had  been  away  from  Boston  all  winter,  part  of  the  time  with 
Scott  Stevens  and  Louise,  and  had  written  she  would  not 
return  until  the  middle  of  April,  but  no  further  word  had 
come  from  Joyful,  and  here  was  April  gliding  in,  tearful  and 
dreamy,  and  buds  were  beginning  to  swell  and  birds  to  call. 
He  stopped  the  lawyer  on  the  street  one  day,  to  ask  if  he  had 
received  any  word,  but  his  answer  was,  "No,  the  young 
lady  wrote  she  would  notifyjne  in  the  spring,  and  as  the 
season  's  half  over  now  I  may  hear  any  day." 

"You  have  Mrs.  Parsons'  address  in  Boston,  have  you 
not  ?  I  shall  be  with  her  in  a  few  days.  Drop  me  a  line 
there  as  soon  as  you  hear  from  Miss  Heatherby,  will  you  ?  " 


SURRENDER  439 

Mark's  impatience  knew  no  bounds.  He  thought  it  would 
be  easier  to  wait  in  Boston,  and  if  his  aunt  had  not  returned, 
the  housekeeper  would  take  him  in,  and  Stokes  would  look 
after  him ;  but  greatly  to  his  surprise  he  found  her  already 
there  domiciled  in  her  home  as  if  she  had  never  left  it. 

"Yes,"  she  said  to  Mark,  as  they  sat  comfortably  before 
the  open  fire  in  the  library,  waiting  for  tea  to  be  brought  in, 
"  we  came  earlier  than  I  wrote  you  —  it  was  too  warm  in 
Florida.  The  heat  seemed  to  be  making  Nettie  ill,  and  I 
always  grow  homesick  towards  the  last.  I  like  to  be  in  my 
own  home  with  my  own  things  around  me." 

"Nettie  —  who  is  Nettie,  an  Angora  cat,  a  pug  dog,  or  a 
girl?" 

"Didn't  I  write  to  you  about  her?    I  meant  to." 

"No,"  said  Mark,  in  an  injured  tone.  "I  have  only  had 
two  letters  from  you,  Aunt  Kate,  since  last  summer." 

"  But  whose  fault  is  it  ?  That 's  one  more  than  Aunt  Kate 
has  had  from  you." 

He  took  out  his  pipe  and  filled  it  slowly  and  carefully, 
and  as  he  did  so,  he  glanced  at  her  and  saw  the  loving  light 
in  her  eyes  as  she  watched  him.  "I  've  been  an  ungrateful 
youngster,  Aunt  Kate,"  he  said,  and  gave  the  log  in  the 
fireplace  a  savage  thrust.  "Why  don't  you  disown  me?" 

"Because  I  want  a  boy  in  the  home.  Come  back  to 
Boston  and  paint,  and  live  with  me,  Mark." 

He  drew  his  chair  nearer  hers  and  laughed.  "You  think 
I  could  live  with  you  now  in  peace,  do  you?  But  there 
would  be  too  much  peace,  Aunt;  you  would  spoil  me  and  I 
would  grow  lazy." 

"You've  become  a  tremendous  success,  Mark.  I've 
been  hearing  all  about  it." 


440  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

"Have  I?"  he  looked  at  her  with  some  surprise. 

"Don't  you  know  it  yourself  ?  Every  one  who  keeps  up 
with  the  times  is  talking  of  you.  Haven't  you  seen  the 
magazine  articles  about  you  and  your  studio?" 

"Yes,  I  know  about  them,  of  course,"  he  said  indifferently. 

"And  the  copies  of  your  last  pictures,  and  the  old  ones  no 
one  would  look  at  three  years  ago.  What  a  triumph  !  And 
the  new  one  of  Mr.  Thompson's,  and  the  mural  work,  oh, 
it  is  a  success.  And  you  knew,  and  never  wrote  me  a  word 
of  it  when  you  knew  it  would  make  me  so  happy.  And  that 
one  you  are  doing  in  New  York,  is  it  David  before  Saul  ?" 

"  Yes.  I  Ve  never  seen  just  the  youth  David  that  pleased 
me  in  art.  Browning's  Saul  gives  the  greatest  picture." 
Mark  turned  to  the  low  bookcase  behind  him  and  drew 
out  a  copy  of  Browning.  "Here  it  is,"  he  said,  after  a 
moment's  search  for  the  place. 

"Everything  Louise  demanded  of  you,  you  have  become." 

"Perhaps,  and  yet  what  I  have  been  struggling  to  attain 
she  never  demanded,"  he  said,  dreamily.  "Well,  here  it  is, 
my  picture,  if  I  can  ever  paint  it.  I  will  put  this  mark  in 
the  place,  and  you  can  read  it  at  your  leisure.  Can  I  give 
my  country  an  artist  who  can  paint  as  Browning  wrote? 
Is  the  aim  too  high?" 

"No,  Mark,  not  according  to  Emerson." 

They  sat  silent  for  a  few  moments,  and  Stokes  brought  in 
the  tea.  Mark  leaned  back  and  puffed  at  his  pipe,  his  eyes 
half  dosed,  and  his  hand  on  the  arm  of  his  aunt's  chair. 
She  did  not  pour  the  tea.  "I'm  waiting  for  Nettie,"  she 
said,  "she  loves  to  pour  it,  and  besides  I  want  you  to  meet 
her.  I  wonder  why  she  does  n't  come  down.  She 's  a  sensi- 
tive creature.  We  were  home  just  in  time  for  the  Thomp- 


SURRENDER  441 

son  housewarming,  and  I  took  her  with  me  last  night,  and 
while  we  were  there  I  missed  her,  and  when  I  found  her  she 
was  alone  in  the  library  before  your  picture  of  Hester 
Prynne  at  the  Trial.  She  was  weeping,  and  seemed  really 
ill,  so  I  had  to  fetch  her  right  home ;  and  all  this  morning 
she  has  seemed  very  sad,  and  not  at  all  like  herself." 

The  fragrance  of  Mark's  pipe  filled  the  library  and 
floated  out  into  the  room  beyond,  where  a  young  woman 
paused  a  moment,  hesitating,  before  with  trembling  hand  she 
pushed  aside  the  heavy  curtains  that  hung  between  the  two 
apartments.  As  she  did  so,  Mark  glanced  up,  then  sprang 
to  his  feet  and  flung  his  pipe  in  the  fireplace,  but  before 
he  could  reach  her  she  swayed  forward  and  sank  to  the  floor 
a  white,  unconscious  heap. 

Mark  stooped  over  her,  then  gathered  her  up  in  his  arms 
and  turned  to  his  frightened  aunt.  "Where  shall  I  take 
her?"  he  said. 

"To  her  own  room.  I  '11  show  you."  His  aunt  called  a 
maid.  "Bring  the  brandy  and  send  Stokes  for  the  doctor 
immediately,"  she  said. 

"He 's  not  here,  m'am,  he  went  to  find  that  coachman  you 
spoke  of  as  soon  as  tea  was  served." 

Mark  carried  his  burden  up  the  stairs  and  laid  her  on  her 
own  bed.  How  could  he  ever  open  his  arms  and  let  her  go  ! 
Before  his  aunt  came  in  with  restoratives  he  had  kissed  her 
once,  and  twice,  and  had  seen  her  eyelids  quiver.  He  must 
go  before  she  lifted  them  and  saw  him  there.  What  terror 
was  in  her  eyes  as  she  stood  before  him  in  that  moment. 
He  saw  it  all,  all  he  must  conquer  ere  he  could  win  her. 

"Take  the  pillow  from  under  her  head  and  let  her  lie 
perfectly  level,"  said  his  aunt,  hurrying  in  with  her  salts 


442  JOYFUI   HEATHERBY 

and  brandy.  "Open  the  window,  that's  right,  and  you 
must  go  for  the  doctor,  Mark,  for  Stokes  is  not  here." 

When  the  physician  came,  he  pronounced  it  a  simple  faint, 

and  gave  orders  to  allow  no  one  to  see  her  and  to  keep  her 

from  all  excitement.    There  was  nothing   the  matter  — 

nothing  at  all  but  some  nervous  strain,  some  sudden  shock 

-  had  she  had  a  nervous  shock  of  any  kind  ? 

But  Mrs.  Parsons  did  not  know  of  any,  and  she  came 
down  to  Mark  with  troubled  countenance.  "I  can't 
understand  it,"  she  said.  "She  really  has  a  very  joyous 
nature,  but  since  she  came  back  to  Boston  she  has  seemed 
changed,  and  especially  so  since  last  evening.  One  would 
think  your  picture  had  cast  a  spell  over  her."  Mark  said 
nothing.  He  was  fumbling  about  absent-mindedly  for 
his  pipe,  unaware  that  he  had  thrown  it  in  the  fire.  "You 
will  stay  with  me,  Mark,  for  a  few  days,  at  any  rate?" 

"If  you  wish,  Aunt  Kate,  if  —  it  seems  best."  Then  he 
went  out  and  walked  and  did  not  return  until  dinner. 

All  that  evening  he  sat  at  home  with  his  aunt,  and  she 
talked  to  him  of  "Nettie,"  yet  he  said  nothing.  "Her 
name  is  Antoinette,  but  I  always  call  her  Nettie,  for  she 
seems  like  a  daughter  to  me  now.  Louise  found  her  and 
was  attracted  to  her.  She  had  been  ill  in  one  of  the  hospitals 
Louise  has  an  interest  in,  and  that  is  how  I  came  to  know 
of  her.  She  has  been  the  dearest  companion  a  lonely  old 
lady  ever  had,  so  quaint  and  unexpected  that  one  never 
tires  of  her."  i  « 

Mark  smiled.  Joyful,  his  beautiful,  wise  little  maid  was 
here,  in  the  same  house  with  him.  To-morrow  he  would 
see  her;  only  to  wait  until  to-morrow.  But  now  he  must 
still  keep  the  secret  of  his  heart  for  her,  for  her  first.  He 


SURRENDER  443 

rested  in  the  present  delight  of  hearing  about  her,  and  in 
thinking  how  he  should  win  her. 

Joyful  did  not  appear  at  breakfast,  and  again  Mark  left 
the  house  and  wandered  restlessly  until  lunch  time.  When 
he  returned,  his  aunt  met  him,  with  trouble  in  her  face. 
"Come  here,  Mark,"  she  said,  handing  him  a  note.  "Just 
read  that,  and  tell  me  what  you  think  of  it.  There  surely 
is  some  mystery  in  Nettie's  life.  I  have  felt  all  winter 
that  there  was  something  she  was  keeping  back  from  me. 
She  is  gone,  Mark;  gone  without  a  word,  —  only  that." 

"Gone!"    He  stood  before   her  dazed  —  overwhelmed. 

"Yes,  read  that." 

He  took  it  to  the  window  and  stood  with  his  back  to  the 
room.  The  note  shook  in  his  hand  as  he  read  the  pitiful 
appeal  to  be  allowed  to  go  unsought. 

"MY  DEAR  MRS.  PARSONS: 

"You  have  been  good  to  me  every  moment.  How  can  I 
ever  make  you  know  how  I  love  you  and  how  grateful  I 
am,  when  I  must  do  this?  Mrs.  Parsons,  I  cannot  stay 
here  —  and  I  cannot  tell  you  why —  and  I  cannot  tell  you 
where  I  am  going  —  I  dare  not  even  trust  myself  to  see  you 
again: 

"I  can  only  tell  you  this:  I  have  a  great  sorrow  in  my 
life  that  I  am  not  able  to  speak  of.  It  is  very  terrible  and 
forces  me  to  hide  myself,  even  from  you.  You  are  so 
beautiful  and  good.  You  will  trust  me.  I  am  not  to  blame 
for  this,  and  some  day  I  may  be  able  to  see  you  again,  but 
not  now.  Forgive  me,  and  do  not  try  to  find  me ;  for  some- 
time, when  I  am  strong  enough,  I  will  come  to  you  myself 
and  tell  you  about  it.  I  am  leaving  now,  and  will  send 


me. 


444  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

for  my  things.    I  beg  you  —  I  beg  you  do  not  search  for 
— e. 

"I  shall  love  you  always,  every  moment  of  my  life. 
"  JOYFUL  ANTOINETTE  HEATHERBY." 

"When "did  she  leave?"  asked  Mark,  hoarsely,  turning 
to  his  aunt. 

"This  morning,  before  any  one  was  about.  I  did  not 
know  of  it  until  after  you  went,  and  a  man  came  for  her 
things,  the  maid  says,  while  I  was  out." 

Mark  began  to  draw  on  his  coat,  which  he  had  thrown 
aside  as  he  entered,  and  seized  his  hat.  "I  will  find  her," 
he  said. 

"Wait,  Mark.  Have  luncheon  first,"  said  his  aunt. 
And  as  he  knew  it  was  best,  he  did  so. 

"I  don't  even  know  where  she  lived  before  she  came  to 
Boston,"  mourned  Mrs.  Parsons.  "She  has  been  so  reticent 
about  herself  in  that  way,  and  yet  she  has  talked  a  great 
deal  about  her  home,  too,  and  her  childhood.  She  must 
have  been  a  very  happy  child.  She  may  have  gone  there, 
Mark,  if  only  I  knew  where  it  is." 

Mark's  eyes  brightened.  He  would  go  there  first. 
Perhaps  Nathanael  and  Elizabeth  had  returned.  Surely 
they  could  help  him.  Hence  it  was  with  some  degree  of 
hope  that  he  kissed  his  aunt  good-bye. 

Late  that  night  he  arrived  in  Woodbury  Center,  tramp- 
ing across  from  the  station  as  he  had  that  first  time  two 
years  before.  Spring  was  full  upon  them  in  the  country. 
The  smell  of  newly  plowed  fields  was  pleasant,  and  his 
heart  bounded  with  hope  as  he  strode  in  the  darkness 
through  the  little  town.  He  saw  a  light  in  the  Drews' 


SURRENDER  445 

window  as  he  passed,  and  he  went  in  at  the  gate  and  peered 
through  like  an  alien.  Yes,  they  were  there.  He  saw 
Elizabeth's  beautiful  hair  shine  in  the  light  of  the  lamp 
above  her  head.  He  saw  Nathanael  stand  with  his  arm 
about  her,  laughing,  and  Mrs.  Drew  in  her  invalid's  chair, 
quiet  and  happy ;  but  he  saw  no  Joyful,  and  he  turned 
away.  He  could  not  break  in  on  that  happy  group  with  his 
trouble.  They  would  but  just  have  arrived,  for  he  saw  an 
unopened  trunk  on  the  little  porch,  so  he  took  his  way  sadly 
to  the  Somers'  boarding  house  as  of  old.  There,  as  of  old, 
also,  he  heard  the  cream  of  the  village  gossip,  but  of  Joyful 
not  a  word.  It  was  as  if  for  them  she  had  never  existed. 
The  large-nosed  young  man  still  came  and  sat  the  evening 
through  and  listened  to  Jane  Somers  playing  the  piano,  but 
she  was  still  Jane  Somers,  a  little  thinner  and  slightly  more 
pungent,  Mark  thought. 

The  next  morning  Mark  started  for  the  cove,  but  this  time 
he  did  not  even  pause  at  the  Drews'.  He  had  no  heart 
just  now  to  see  any  one  to  whom  he  must  be  civil,  until  the 
cry  of  his  heart  had  been  heard.  A  certain  peace  came  over 
him  as  he  entered  the  wagon  way  through  the  old  woods. 
There  was  the  spot  where  he  first  spied  her,  sacred  to  him, 
and  filled  with  her  presence.  He  gathered  some  star 
flowered  grasses  that  grew  where  she  had  stood,  and  walked 
on  with  them  in  his  hand.  A  bluebird  fluted  its  note  over 
his  head,  and  he  heard  a  woodman's  ax  in  the  distance. 

There  was  the  spot  where  he  had  nearly  met  his  death, 
and  a  little  farther  on  was  the  narrow  footpath  he  had  taken 
that  noontime  when  he  had  finished  his  morning's  painting 
of  Undine  under  the  old  beech  tree.  He  took  the  path 
again,  and  his  heart  beat  high.  It  secerned  to  him  that  he 


446  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

was  being  guided  by  an  unseen  power,  as  if  he  were  moving 
forward  under  an  hypnotic  spell,  and  he  hastened  his  steps 
-he  almost  ran.  At  last  —  at  last  he  must  find  her. 
She  was  there.  He  saw  her  in  the  distance,  sitting  as 
before,  but  this  time  she  was  absorbed  in  no  book,  only  in 
her  own  thoughts,  and  the  branches  of  the  trees  were  bare, 
and  the  sunlight  streamed  warmly  over  her. 

He  stood  still  a  moment,  and  then  moved  nearer,  nearer. 
She  heard  him,  and,  starting  from  her  dream,  rose  and  came 
a  step  toward  him,  with  the  old  look  he  remembered,  of 
April  sun  in  eyes  that  had  wept;  but  as  suddenly  she 
turned  her  face  from  him,  and  held  out  both  hands  as  if 
to  ward  him  off. 

"No,  no,"  she  cried.  "Go  back,  go  back.  You  must 
not  come  here." 

But  he  came  on  and  took  the  warding  hands  in  his  and 
held  them.  "I  must  come  to  you,  Joyful,  I  must.  You 
can't  hide  from  me  any  more,  darling;  you  cannot." 

She  writhed  and  twisted  her  hands  free,  and  confronted 
him.  "How  dare  you!"  she  said,  with  trembling,  white 
lips. 

Mark  feared  she  would  fall  as  she  had  before,  and  he 
placed  his  arm  about  her  and  led  her,  too  weak  to  resist, 
to  the  seat,  and  stood  beside  her.  "Listen  to  me,  Joyful," 
he  said,  at  last  controlling  his  emotion.  "I  must  talk  to 
you  a  little  while,  and  then,  after  you  have  heard  me 
through,  if  you  have  anything  to  condemn  me  for,  I  will  go. 
Look  at  me,  Joyful,  look  in  my  eyes."  She  fixed  her  eyes 
on  his  face  with  the  same  gaze  he  had  so  often  felt  search- 
ing into  his  very  soul,  and  he  took  the  seat  beside  her. 
"Tell  me,"  he  said,— "be  true  with  yourself,  and  be  true 


SURRENDER  447 

with  me.  Tell  me  if  you  see  any  evil  in  me.  Forget  what 
any  one  may  have  said  to  you,  and  say  truly,  before  God, 
if  you  can  think  my  heart  is  black." 

"Oh,  no,  Mr.  Thorn,  I  can't.  That  is  why  I  dared  not 
see  you,"  she  said,  with  a  long-drawn  sigh,  as  of  one  who 
had  fought  to  the  end  of  his  strength.  "I  can't,  Mr. 
Thorn;  why  did  you  come  here?" 

"Because  I  love  you,  and  I  must  come  here.  Every 
hour,  every  moment  since  I  saw  you  last,  you  have  been  in 
my  heart.  I  have  searched  for  you.  I  went  to  Europe, 
thinking  I  was  following  you,  only  to  learn  too  late  that  I 
was  leaving  you  behind.  Dearest  one,  why  can't  you  trust 
me?" 

"That  is  it.  That  is  the  terrible  thing.  How  can  you 
ask  me,  when  you  know  ?  Once  I  trusted  you.  Once  you 
seemed  like  a  god  to  me.  I  was  glad  whenever  I  thought 
about  you,  I  never  thought  whether  you  loved  me  or  not, 
it  was  that  you  seemed  so  great  and  good.  Everything 
you  said  was  like  a  beautiful  story,  full  of  delight  to  me  — 
and  then  —  and  —  then  —  I  learned  such  terrible  things 
of  you,  of  how  you  had  the  power  to  hide  your  real  self,  and 
—  can  you  think  how  terrible  it  is  ?  Can  you  ?  I  learned 
you  were  no  true  knigh^  such  as  I  had  dreamed  you  were, 
and  my  heart  died  in  me,  for  the  world  is  terrible  —  I. 
learned  what  you  knew  all  the  time,  and  did  not  care  any- 
thing about,  how  people  crush  each  other,  and  let  each 
other  suffer  from  day  to  day  under  their  hands.  They 
forget  what  they  are,  they  never  seem  to  think  what  they 
might  be,  and  just  go  on  and  live  for  such  strange  things. 
They  seem  to  live  as  if  they  were  only  bodies,  and  forget 
there  is  anything  besides.  They  don't  seem  even  to  know 


448  JOYFUL  HEATHERBY 

how  to  be  really  happy,  and  yet  they  laugh  a  great  deal. 
All  the  time  I  have  longed  so  for  this  sweet  place.  It  has 
seemed  the  only  safe  place  in  all  the  earth,  and  now,  when 
I  have  come  back  to  it,  you  -  "  she  stopped  speaking,  and 
leaned  toward  him  a  long  moment,  with  parted  lips  and 
heightened  color,  still  gazing  in  his  eyes,  which  glowed  on 
hers  through  tears.  Suddenly  she  placed  her  two  hands 
on  his  breast  and  her  face  drew  nearer  his. 

"Mr.  Thorn,"  she  said  in  a  low  voice,  "I  do  not  believe 
it,  I  cannot.  You  are  true,  you  are  good.  You  could  not 
sit  here  and  look  at  me  like  that,  with  such  wickedness  in 
your  heart  —  I  know  it  —  I  feel  it  here  —  in  your  heart  I 
feel  it,  and  in  mine." 

Then  he  caught  her  to  his  breast,  and  she  rested  there, 
sobbing.  It  was  over  —  the  sorrow  and  the  fear.  The 
delicious  moment  came  to  him  for  which  he  could  have 
given  his  life,  the  reward  of  his  waiting  love.  She  clung  to 
him.  She  would  not  lift  her  head  nor  look  in  his  eyes 
again,  and  when  he  tried  to  tell  her  all  and  explain  away 
her  doubts,  she  would  not  listen  to  him. 

"I  can't  have  you  tell  me.  I  would  rather  trust  you 
without  being  told.  It  is  sweet  to  be  able  to  trust  in  this 
way,  just  as  we  trust  God.  He  does  n't  tell  us  everything, 
only  leads  us,  and  we  find  things  come  right." 

"Joyful,"  Mark  said  in  wonder,  "why  did  you  change  so 
suddenly,  before  I  had  a  chance  to  make  even  one  little 
explanation?" 

She  tossed  back  the  hair  he  had  disheveled  and  looked 
at  him  through  tear-dimmed  lashes.  "Because  all  at  once 
it  seemed  as  if  your  soul  was  crying  out  to  mine  and  telling 
me  the  truth.  All  at  once,  Mark,  as  if  we  were  both  made 


SURRENDER  449 

of  glass  and  could  see  each  other's  truth  through  the 
windows  of  our  eyes.  I  felt  my  distrust  of  you  was  a  shame 
in  me,  and  yet,  how  could  I  do  otherwise,  when  —  when  — 
there  was  so  much — "  again  she  hid  her  face  from  his, 
where  he  loved  to  have  it  hidden  —  where  he  had  so  longed 
to  hold  her  —  where  he  felt  she  belonged. 

"Tell  me  all  about  it,  Joyful,  from  the  very  beginning." 

So  she  told  him  all  the  story  of  those  two  years,  beginning 
with  the  hour  when  he  had  found  her,  and  she  had  poured 
out  her  heart  to  him  in  her  terrible  need. 

"And  why  did  you  leave  my  aunt  ?  Why  did  n't  you  give 
me  a  chance  there  to  speak  for  myself?" 

"Because  of  something  in  myself.  I  could  not  hate  you 
— I  had  tried.  I  did  not  dream  you  really  loved  me;  how 
could  I  ?  And  even  if  I  had,  I  would  still  have  feared  you, 
for  something  within  me  kept  drawing  me  to  think  of  you ; 
and  when  I  was  alone,  or  in  the  dark,  I  seemed  to  feel 
you  near  me,  as  you  were  that  time  you  found  me  and  helped 
me.  I  thought  I  was  wicked  not  to  be  able  to  hate  you  — 
but  I  could  not." 

"I  thank  God  for  it,"  he  said.  Ah,  the  sweet  confession ! 
What  more  could  he  ask  for  his  two  years  of  anxious  wait- 
ing? He  lifted  her  face  to  his.  "Don't  say  anymore, 
sweet  —  all  the  terrible  past  is  ended,  and  heaven  is  opened 
for  you  and  me." 


Unquestionably  the  Great  Love  Story  of  the  Year 


THE  MOUNTAIN  GIRL 


By  PAYNE  ERSKINE 

Author  of  "  Joyful  Heatherby,"  "  When  the  Gates  Lift  Up 

Their  Heads,"  etc. 
Illustrated.     12mo.     $1.25  net. 


Breathes  the  air  of  the  great  woods  and  at  the  same  time 
tells  a  compelling  love-story. —  Springfield  Union. 

A  delightful  love-story,  genuinely  American  in  feeling  and 
treatment.  The  story  is  stirring,  the  heroine  ideal. 

—  Chicago  Tribune. 

I  am  particularly  delighted  with  its  heroine,  who  is  simple, 
beautiful,  and  capable  of  infinite  love  and  tenderness. 

—  JAMES  L.  FORD,  in  The  New  York  Herald. 

The  mountain  girl,  Cassandra,  is  as  fine  a  character  in  fiction 
as  we  have  met  in  many  a  long  day.  Altogether  an  unusually 
refreshing  novel  and  a  delightfully  told  story. —  Boston  Herald. 

We  must  credit  to  the  author  rare  power  as  an  artist  in 
depicting  Cassandra,  one  of  the  strangest,  most  elusive,  but 
alluring  heroines  of  latter-day  fiction. — Philadelphia  Record. 

A  book  of  great  strength  and  charm  and  of  absorbing  interest. 
The  plot  is  well  worked  out,  the  characters  are  finely  discrimi- 
nated and  explain  themselves, —  the  heroine  being  a  new  and 
beautiful  creation. —  HARRIET  PRESCOTT  SPOFFORD. 


LITTLE,  BROWN,  &  CO.,  PUBLISHERS 
34  BEACOX  STREET,  BOSTON 


A  dory  of  ike  South  in  the  Seventiet 


WHEN  THE  GATES 
LIFT  UP  THEIR  HEADS 


By  PAYNE  ERSKINE 
Author  of  "The  Mountain  Girl,"  "Joyful  H^atherby,"  etc. 

EIGHTH  PRINTING.     12roo.     Cloth.     $1.25  net. 


The  story  is  interesting,  simple  and  convincing.  . .  .  The  full 
appreciation  of  the  cultivated  Southerners  is  one  of  the  most 
commendable  things  about  the  book.  —  Boston  Transcript. 

A  strong  story.  .  .  The  skill  displayed  in  the  planning  of  the 
story  is  admirable.  The  denouement  comes  upon  the  reader  as 
almost  a  complete  surprise.  —  St.  Louis  Globe- Democrat. 

A  strong,  stirring,  well-written  story.  .  .  .  The  fact  that  it 
is  one  of  the  most  informing  novels  of  its  kind  detracts  not  in 
the  least  from  its  power  and  attractiveness  as  a  story.  It  can 
be  most  heartily  recommended.  —  Pittsburg  Times. 

A  strong  and  interesting  novel,  wholly  American  in  scene 
and  spirit,  written  with  a  purpose  which  is  not  revealed  until  the 
end;  and  then  in  a  series  of  dramatic  and  humanly  convincing 
scenes  of  tragedy  and  triumph.  —New  York  Mail  and  Express. 

The  story  is  stirring  and  holds  a  fine  surprise.  .  .  .  There 
are  certain  scenes  in  the  book  which  are  not  to  be  excelled  in 
characterisation,  and  the  new  author  is  to  be  congratulated 
upon  the  humor  and  pathos,  the  sympathy  and  sureness  of 
touch.  —Chicago  Evening  Post. 


LITTLE,  BROWN,  &  CO.,  PUBLISHER* 
34  BEACON  STREET,  BOSTON 


By  the  author  of  "The  Broad  Highway" 


THE 
AMATEUR  GENTLEMAN 


By  JEFFERY  FARNOL 
Illustrated  by  Herman  Pfeifer.     12mo.     $1.40  net 


By  the  complete  and  overwhelming  success  of  "The  Broad 
Highway,"  Jeffery  Farnol  has  permanently  fixed  his  name  in 
the  minds  of  hundreds  of  thousands  of  readers  throughout  the 
English-speaking  world,  and  the  publication  of  a  new  novel 
from  his  pen  is  certain  to  arouse  the  widest  interest.  "The 
Amateur  Gentleman,"  the  first  story  he  has  written  since  "The 
Broad  Highway"  was  published,  possesses  the  same  qualities 
which  gave  that  book  its  universal  appeal — the  charm  of  style, 
the  fresh,  unusual  humor,  the  vigorous  yet  whimsical  character- 
izations. The  period  is  the  early  nineteenth  century,  the  scene 
England,  and  you  will  read  of  country  things  and  people,  of 
gentlemen  of  fashion  and  fine  ladies,  of  romantic  adventure,  and 
hand-to-hand  encounters  and,  most  of  all,  of  true  love  —  the 
whole  making  an  entrancing  story  rich  in  sentiment  and  over- 
flowing with  ennobling  human  nature. 

Barnabas  Barty,  a  country-bred  youth,  son  of  the  retired 
champion  pugilist  of  England,  is  left  a  fortune ;  he  sets  forth 
for  London  to  "become  a  gentleman,"  has  many  adventures, 
meets  people  of  widely  different  types,  and  falls  in  love  with  a 
fascinating  heroine. 

"The  Amateur  Gentleman"  is  Likely  to  be  the  most  popu- 
lar book  of  the  year. 


LITTLE,  BROWN,  &  CO.,  PUBLISHES* 

34  BEACON  STREET,  Bosrox 


A  dramatic  story  of  love  and  life 


THE  HAPPY  WARRIOR 


By  A.  S.  M.  HUTCHINSON 

Author  of  "Once  Aboard  the  Lugger,"  etc. 

Frontispiece.     12rao.     $1.36  net. 


Mr.  Hutch  in  son  has  in  "The  Happy  Warrior"  written  a 
modern  romance  with  literary  qualities  that  invites  comparison 
with  the  best  work  of  those  authors  of  a  generation  ago  whose 
names  have  become  household  words. 

Lord  and  Lady  Burden's  sudden  elevation  to  the  peerage 
is  due  to  the  untimely  death  in  India  of  the  gallant  young  Lord 
Burdon,  the  twelfth  baron,  while  leading  a  charge  in  a  sharp 
frontier  engagement  But  it  appears  that  the  dead  peer  had 
contracted  a  secret  marriage  before  he  left  for  India,  and  Lady 
Burdon  has  scarcely  established  herself  in  her  new  surround- 
ings when  Audrey,  the  widow  of  the  brave  young  soldier,  ap- 
pears on  the  scene.  Repelled  by  Lady  Burdon,  she  dies  in 
giving  birth  to  a  boy,  left  in  the  care  of  her  sister,  who  is  de- 
termined to  secure  revenge. 

The  growth  to  manhood  and  the  love  affairs  of  these  two 
children,  one  the  son  of  the  new  Lady  Burdon,  who  inherits  the 
title  from  his  father,  and  the  other  the  real  peer  in  the  person 
of  the  posthumous  son  of  the  late  Lord  Burdon,  provide  a 
theme  which  only  a  skilled  hand  could  deal  with  in  a  convincing 
manner. 


LITTLE,  BROWN,  &  CO.,  PUBLISHERS 
34  BEACO.V  STREET,  BOSTON 


